He knows it.
I know it.
The whole café probably knows it.
But he doesn't let it go, gaze dissecting me. "So? Did you?"
"Cut it off," I bite out.
"Cut what off?" He tilts his head, feigning innocence, but his expression says I deserve this for switching the button.
"You shouldn't care, you're married," I remind him, stressing every syllable.
"Doesn't matter. This isn't about Lisa. This is about you and me."
"There is no you and me."
His eyes hood over, the storm behind them evident. "Answer my question."
"Why?"
He leans closer, pinning me down with his gaze. "Just. Answer. The. Question."
I meet his stare with every instinct in me screaming to hold my ground, even though I don't think I can win against him.
But I'm trying—desperately trying—to push past those dark-matter eyes and not smack him even though I'm a hypocrite but I still feel like he betrayed me.
"Keep talking!" Mara's voice cuts through like divine rescue and my head whips her way.
"Sorry. Got carried away talking to people. I missed the vibe on this coast—" She pauses and flicks a finger between us. "What is this? A mirror arguing with itself?"
Ben and I glance down at the same time. Right arm, left arm—identical, fingers resting the same. Even the grunt we give Mara is a synchronized perfection, proving her point.
Her mouth curves devilishly.
I sigh and shift, rearranging every limb, trying to shake him off.
Ben inhales sharply and checks his watch.
"It was so lovely talking to you, I almost forgot the time," he says too sweetly to pass as genuine. "Next shift's starting soon. I have to go get ready."
He stands, adjusts his shirt and I instinctively lean away because he's too close. I can practically smell his skin.
"Could you move back a little?" I ask, squinting up at him against the afternoon sun.
He peers down at me, that teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Still can't handle a little closeness?"
My glare says it all—his crotch practically in my face—I could eat him alive now, and not in the fun way.
"Still clueless about boundaries?" I bite out.
He smirks and shifts. Not away.Closer.
Fine. Back to tearing sugar packets—the only thing under control right now.
He hugs Mara over the table, pretending he can't goaround, and they share parting sentences in Italian before she kisses his cheek.
"Have a nice day, Emma," he says behind me then.
