“I think I’m having dinner alone.”

The waitress made an exaggerated, dramatic face.

“Oh no. Let me guess. Blind date that turned into a dark date because the person disappeared.”

“Something like that,” Christopher murmured, embarrassed.

“On Christmas Eve?” She placed a hand on her chest theatrically. “That is cruelty. It should be a crime. Real jail, you know.”

Christopher couldn’t help a small smile. “I don’t think it’s that serious.”

“Not that serious, my friend. You’ve been here since eight.” The waitress pointed at him with her pen. “I saw you. You came in all excited, adjusted the table like fifteen times, checked your phone every thirty seconds. You looked like a little dog waiting for the owner to come back.”

Christopher widened his eyes. “You were watching me this whole time?”

“Not watching. Monitoring,” she corrected, very serious. “It’s different. Watching is what stalkers do. Monitoring is professional responsibility. I’m Emma, by the way, and this restaurant is my territory.”