“Not like this.”
The simple certainty in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. I want to step back, but somehow stepping back feels like giving something away.
He gestures toward his table with a small incline of his head. “Will you join me for a moment?”
Every instinct screams no, but refusing feels dangerous in its own way. Walking away when he’s standing this close feels impossible.
“Just for a few minutes,” I say softly.
He moves aside, letting me pass, and I take the seat across from him. The river breeze cools my skin, but his presence heats the space between us, thick with something I can’t define.
He sits again, folding his hands neatly on the table. “You’re far from your usual research area.”
My fingers tighten on my notebook. “How do you know where I usually go?”
His smile is small, infuriatingly calm. “You mentioned you work near campus.”
“That doesn’t mean you know my routes.”
“True, but you don’t strike me as someone who wanders aimlessly.”
I blink. He’s right, but the knowledge sits uneasily in my stomach. It feels like he’s been watching me without watching me. Like he’s collecting pieces of me I didn’t mean to leave out.
I force myself to breathe. “I guess I needed a break. Somewhere less crowded.”
“So you came here.” His eyes soften a fraction as he looks around. “It fits you.”
That catches me off guard—those quiet words, said with something dangerously close to sincerity. I don’t know how to receive it.
“You’re observant,” he adds. “More than most.”
“I study people. It’s part of my work.”
His gaze drops to my notebook, then lifts again. “It’s also part of who you are.”
Heat creeps up my neck. No one has ever said it like that—like it’s not a habit, but a fundamental truth.
“So,” I say, trying to steady my voice, “do you come here often?”
A faint smile curves his lips. “Only when I have a reason.”
Something in my chest tightens. “You have a reason today?”
His eyes lock with mine—steady, consuming, unreadable. “Today,” he says, “I didn’t realize I needed one.”
I swallow, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, my breath, any part of myself. Simon is dangerous in ways I don’t have language for, but sitting across from him… something in me steadies. It makes no sense. He is the last person who should feel grounding.
There’s a softness in him I catch in flickers—when his eyes linger too long on my face, when his voice dips without edge, when he watches me like he’s memorizing each reaction. It’s subtle, barely there, but I feel it like warmth leaking through cracks in a wall.
It scares me more than his coldness, because cold I can interpret. Cold I can avoid.
This—this strange, careful curiosity—it pulls at something deep inside me, something I didn’t know could be touched.
I don’t trust him. I shouldn’t. Yet… I can’t look away.
I clear my throat, gathering what little composure I have left. “I should get back to work,” I say, though my voice comes out softer than planned. “I really only meant to stop by for a quick break.”
Simon nods. It’s not a dismissal, not quite permission. More like he’s choosing to release a hold he never physically took. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You have things to do.”
