He raises both hands. “Wouldn’t dare.”
Liar.
I turn back to the espresso machine, trying to ignore the way my heart kicks every time the chorus swells. I’m pouring coconut milk when he clears his throat.
“I’ll take a coffee.”
“You already have one.”
“I know.”
I glance over. “You planning to bathe in caffeine today?”
“Possibly.” He sets another cup on the counter. “Black.”
I make it. Slide it to him.
He doesn’t take it.
Instead, he turns the cup so the sleeve faces me.
Written in thick black Sharpie is one word.
Red.
I blink.
My mouth opens. Closes.
I look up at him. He’s watching me closely now. No grin. No joke. Just that steady, intent focus he gets on calls when something matters.
“Cute,” I say weakly. “You’re practicing your handwriting.”
He nods toward the espresso machine. “Another.”
My pulse ticks up. “Dax?—”
“Please.”
I swallow and make another coffee. This time my hand shakes just a little when I set it down.
He rotates the cup.
I’ve
The song swells behind us.We’ve come a long way, baby…
My chest tightens.
A customer gasps quietly. Someone whispers, “Oh.”
I stare at the cup, then at Dax. “What are you doing?”
“Ordering coffee,” he says easily. “Thought that was allowed.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Been accused of worse.”
