He keeps staring—unreadable, unmoving.
And I’m pretty sure I made it worse.
Until he lets out a breath through his nose.
He glances away,
as if it all hit harder than he planned,
and now he’s trying not to show what it did to him.
His face is screaming?—
don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t.
Then he does.
His hand drags across his jaw,
hiding behind it.
But I see his walls starting to fracture.
“You, uh… like coffee?”
I blink. “Coffee?”
Then I glance down at my hand,
where I’m literally holding a coffee cup.
His eyes follow,
lingering there a second too long.
He scratches his jaw, his grin still fighting him.
“Okay, okay, yeah. I panicked. Went with coffee,” he says, “I’m working on it, alright?”
He flusters.
Then he barrels on.
“If not another coffee, then wine? Martini? I dunno. You look like someone who likes her drinks shaken and expensive.”
I lean into my hip. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” He nods, caught up now.
“Here’s a plan. Let’s get you one of each—martini, wine, espresso. We’ll have ‘em duke it out for your affection. Best drink wins.”
I wiggle the cup between my fingers.
“Please. This cup’s been treating me better than every guy I’ve ever met.”
His smile stays, but his eyes dip?—
navy fading to midnight.
