“I’m fine.”
“You’re swaying,” he says, not unkindly. “Tea or coffee.”
He sees too much. Again.
“Tea,” I mutter.
“What kind?” he asks, gaze steady.
“Peppermint.”
His eyes darken, just a fraction. A flicker of recognition.
“One black coffee. One peppermint tea,” he orders.
My heart thumps once, hard.
He pays before I can even get my wallet unzipped. I open my mouth to argue and then close it again. Fighting him on seven dollars will make more noise than it’s worth. Letting him do it feels… quieter.
We take our cups and peel off toward the far corner, where the tables thin out. He chooses one with a clear line of sight to both entrances and the largest section of windows. I would have picked the same one.
We sit with our backs to the wall, chairs angled so we can both see the door without blocking each other.
If someone were to glance over right now—Coach, Maya, one of the gossip girls from the quad—we’d look like we’re on a date. Coffee, opposite cups, matching paranoia about exits. The thought makes my stomach twist, equal parts panic and something softer I refuse to name.
I wrap my hands around the paper cup. The heat sinks into my fingers, bleeding warmth into the cold spots in my chest.
For a while, we don’t talk. He scans the room the way he scans the ice—smooth, systematic sweeps. My shoulders unknot second by second, breath by breath.
“You’re not what I expected,” I say finally.
His eyes slide to me over the rim of his cup. “What’d you expect?”
“Louder,” I admit. “The rumors make you sound like you never shut up.”
A huff of what might be a laugh escapes him. “People like to hear themselves talk.”
“Me too,” I say. “I mean—about hating it. Not liking to hear myself.” I make a face. “Wow. That was eloquent.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, a faint, reluctant smile that feels like it was carved out of stone. “I figured.”
“You figured I hate noise?”
He nods once. “You were counting your breaths at the bar.”
I blink. “You saw that?”
“You checked the exits six times in twenty minutes,” he says, like he’s listing stats. “You only breathed all the way out when the music dipped.”
My cheeks heat. “Creepy,” I murmur.
Declan doesn’t flinch. “Accurate.”
It should bother me, how closely he watches. How many small tells he clocked when I thought I was invisible.
But instead of feeling exposed, I just feel… seen. In a way that isn’t demanding an explanation. Just… registering data. Adjusting around it.
I sip my tea. Peppermint steam curls into my face, familiar and sharp, cutting through the thick smell of coffee. My heart rate settles into something like normal.
