“You look tired,” I say softly.
He huffs a small laugh. “I am tired.” He takes another sip from his mug, watching me over the rim. “But I’m good. Better now.”
“Rough night?” I ask.
“Not rough. Just… long.” He pauses, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic. “We got back around four. I figured if I went home, I’d pass out and miss the morning rush. And then you’d complain that I didn’t show up for my caffeine infusion.”
“I never complain,” I lie.
His eyebrow lifts. “Em, you lecture me like our old homeroom teacher if I skip a day.”
I gasp. “I do not! In fact, Ibarelysee you if you don’t stop in.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you give me hell,” he doubles down, a lazy smile curving his mouth. “And you know what?”
“What?” I challenge.
“It’s my favorite part of the day.”
The breath stutters straight out of my chest.
He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s telling me about the weather. Like he hasn’t just put a crack in the wall that I’ve been stubbornly keeping in place for the last few years.
I clear my throat, trying desperately to sound normal. “Well, someone has to keep you functional.”
Hayes leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm gaze fixed on me with a softness and longing in his eyes. Almost like I’m the only thing in the room worth looking at.
“You do more than that, Emmy.”
His voice dips—low, reverent, dangerously close to a confession.
“You keep me grounded.”
My pulse thunders. “Hayes…”
He reaches out, fingers brushing over the back of my hand—a barely there, whisper of contact that somehow feels like a doorway opening into unchartered territory.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, suddenly unsure if I’m breathing correctly. “Are you?”
A soft laugh escapes him, warm and a little sheepish. “Yeah. I think so.” He pulls back, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry if I’m weird today. Sleep deprivation makes me bluntly honest.”
“It’s… fine,” I manage. “Honesty’s good.”
He smiles at that. Slow. Gentle. The kind of soft smile that you give to someone that you care deeply about.
Before either of us can speak again, the café door opens and a rush of cold air swoops in—followed immediately by half a dozen locals stamping snow off their boots and heading straight for the counter.
Evie shouts over the incoming chaos, “Sorry, Em. Break’s over!”
Hayes glances toward the crowd, then back at me. “Duty calls,” he murmurs, amusement tugging at his mouth.
“Seems so.” I slide out of the booth, suddenly very aware that his knee stays pressed against mine until the last possible second.
“Come back tomorrow?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He looks up at me, eyes warming in a way that melts straight through my chest. “I always do.”
