Arden set the cup down with deliberate care, the soft clink of porcelain on saucer grounding her. She met his eyes with a gaze as even as his tone.
“Or perhaps… a rose is just a rose. Not everything is a warning.”
Sebastian’s smile didn’t budge. But something in his expression cooled.
“You, of all people, should know better than that.”
Her jaw tightened, fingers finding the edge of the table.
“I’ll let you know if I get the bill.”
He laughed then, softly. Almost indulgent. Like her sharpness amused him more than it threatened him.
He stood, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve, then adjusted his cuffs with meticulous precision.
“Enjoy your coffee,” he murmured. “And the rose.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and walked out, his retreat as staged as his entrance.
Arden didn’t move. Not right away.
The babbleof the café returned slowly, like someone had turned the volume back up on the world.
But the rose stayed.
Unbothered.
Still perfect.
Still out of place.
She reached for her cup again, fingers tracing the rim. The warmth hadn’t faded, not entirely.
But underneath the coffee and cinnamon and faintly sweet vanilla from the counter, something else lingered.
Not just unease.
Not just memory.
A warning.
And this time, she didn’t doubt it.
He hadn’t neededto stay.
Not after the look in her eyes
Not after the hesitation.
She’d felt it.
The shift. The thread pulling taut.
He watched from the corner, unnoticed, as the moment sealed itself inside her.
A whisper she couldn’t shake. A question she wouldn’t answer.
She hadn’t run.
