“Astrid?” When Miller said my name, I realized he had been speaking to me. “Are you okay?” Terror clenched in my gut.

How do these strangers know my name?

Then I remembered that I was wearing a name tag and told myself not to panic. I glanced down to reassure myself. I could only see the A that was etched in the plastic because of the spots in my vision. But knowing it was there calmed my frantic heart.

“Are you okay?” Miller asked again.

“Yeah.” It came out breathy. The cold sweat started, a symptom that often came with these episodes. I swiped the back of my hand across my clammy forehead, practically poking my eye with the pen in my hand.

“Um,” I cleared my throat, realizing that I was acting super awkward. “Yeah I just—wondered if I could get you anything else?”

He chuckled a bit. I worried my lingering at their table seemed like I was trying to "irt, but I couldn’t walk away until I felt steadier.

“You, uh, drew on your face a bit with that pen.” The cowboy gestured to his face, which I could hardly see from the blind spot. Embarrassment crashed over me in a wave. I let go of the bench to scrub at my face with my other arm. Bad idea—without the anchor, I felt myself sway. Miller grabbed my pen-wielding arm as he stood, suddenly towering far too close to me. His masculine scent of earthy leather and citrus overwhelmed me. All I could see was his broad chest inches from my face. My heart started racing. There I was, at twenty-three and I’d never been this close to a man before, let alone an attractive one. The feeling in my stomach was strange. I couldn’t tell if it was from the episode or from having a man so close to me. He had both hands now wrapped around my biceps. Afraid of the sudden intimacy of the contact, I !inched and he let me go, his hands up in a surrender gesture.