Great. Of course he’s working the day shift.
“Well, well,” Milo says, setting down the glass. “Nate Thorn bringing a date to my bar. Someone mark the calendar.”
“Milo.” I nod at him, then steer Cara toward a booth in the back. She hesitates for a second before sliding in across from me.
Milo appears almost immediately. “What can I get you two?”
“Coffee,” I say. “Black.”
“We have food too, you know. It’s lunchtime.”
“Coffee. Black.”
Milo’s eyes flick to Cara, then back to me. I can see him cataloging everything—my locked-down scent, her nervous energy, the six feet of tension between us. He’s always been too good at reading people.
“I’ll have the same,” Cara says. She’s watching me with those green eyes, trying to read something in my face. She won’t find anything. I’ve had a long time to practice this.
Milo fills two mugs and sets them down, lingering a beat longer than necessary. I shoot him a look that saysback off, and he holds up his hands, retreating to the bar.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
I study the surface of my coffee. Black, like I’ve taken it since I was nineteen. Theo used to tease me about it—said only old men and people who hated joy drank their coffee black. Lucas took his with cream and sugar, like a normal person. Cara used to steal sips from all three of our cups, never committing to her own order.
I wonder if she still does that.
Stop it. Don’t think about the past.
Cara wraps her hands around her mug. “So. A bar.”
I take a sip of coffee. Say nothing.
“This is romantic.”
Nothing.
“Nate.” Her voice sharpens. “You said we’d try again. This doesn’t feel like trying.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Physically. Barely.” She leans forward, and I catch a stronger wave of her scent—honey and citrus, tinged with frustration. She’s trying so hard. Part of me wants to put her out of her misery, tell her it’s not her fault, that I’ve always been like this.
But that would mean opening my mouth. And if I start talking, I might not be able to stop.
“You won’t look at me. You won’t talk to me. You’re sitting there like I’m holding you hostage.”
“You kind of are.”
Her jaw tightens. “I paid for this date.”
“And I’m honoring it.”
“By being a brick wall?”
I finally meet her eyes. That’s a mistake—I know it’s a mistake the second I do it—but her voice cracks through the wall I’ve built, and suddenly I’m looking right at her.
She’s beautiful. That’s the worst part. Ten years, and she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Same green eyes that used to look at me like I hung the moon. Same mouth that used to whisper my name in the dark. Same stubborn set to her jaw when she’s not getting what she wants.
My gaze drops to her lips before I can stop it. Stays there a beat too long.
