There’s something in the way he says it—gentle on the surface, edged with something deeper—that sends a prickle down my arms.
I rise from my seat, clutching my notebook like a shield. His gaze lifts with me. It rests on my face, then drops briefly to my hands before returning to my eyes. That look alone feels like a touch, unsettling and quiet and somehow… searching.
“Thank you for the conversation,” I say. My voice wavers, betraying the swirl inside me.
He leans back slightly, studying me with that same unreadable intensity. “The pleasure was mine, Eden.”
My breath stutters at the way he says my name—smooth, confident, almost intimate. I turn before it can affect me more than it already has. My steps start out steady, but by the time I’m halfway down the block, my heartbeat pushes up into my throat.
Don’t look back. I’m afraid of what I’ll see, I’m afraid of what I’ll want to see.
A few seconds later, instinct wins. I glance over my shoulder.
Simon still sits at the café table, body angled just enough to follow my movement. He doesn’t pretend to look away. He watches me openly, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on me with a focus that feels too sharp, too weighted, too knowing.
The distance between us does nothing to dilute the pull.
I turn again, this time faster, breath catching in short bursts. The river wind hits my face, cold and salty, but it’s not enough to cool the warmth crawling through my chest.
Why does being seen by him feel like this? Why do I feel pulled toward someone I should fear?
He’s dangerous. Every instinct whispers that truth over and over. But danger hasn’t stopped the curiosity building inside me—slow, quiet, insistent. A curiosity I don’t want to acknowledge but can’t deny.
When I finally round the corner, leaving the café behind, I stop again. My heart pounds so loudly I press a hand to my ribs as though that could quiet it.
I walk several more blocks, trying to settle myself with the rhythm of my footsteps, the murmur of cars, the sound of the river fading behind me. My thoughts should be on work. On safety. On the horrible thing I witnessed days ago.
Instead, every rhythm in my body echoes with the memory of Simon’s gaze lingering, calm but consuming.
The farther I move, the more I try to convince myself that what happened was coincidence. That he just happened to be there. That I’m reading too much into the moment.
Except instinct whispers the truth. Simon doesn’t do anything by accident, and he definitely wasn’t at that café by chance.
The sky darkens as I turn onto a quieter street. My pulse finally settles, though the lingering warmth beneath my skin refuses to fade. I tighten my grip on my bag and steady my breath.
I need distance. I need clarity. I need to stop letting a stranger—one with danger in his eyes and secrets in every carefully measured word—get into my head.
The pull remains.
When I reach the next main road, I force myself not to look back again. I keep walking, footsteps steady, shoulders squared, pretending I’m unaffected.
Pretending the encounter didn’t set off something deep in my chest. The traffic buzzes loud enough to drown my thoughts for a moment, and I cling to it—noise feels safer than silence right now.
My phone buzzes. Suzy.
Where are you? I’m near your place. Thought we could grab dinner.
I inhale slowly, letting the normalcy of her text sink into me like a lifeline.
On my way. Ten minutes.
Her reply pops up instantly.
Good. You’re acting weird. Tell me everything.
I almost laugh. Leave it to Suzy to bulldoze her way through my emotional barricades with a single sentence.
By the time I reach my building, she’s leaning against the lobby wall, scrolling through her phone. Her expression lifts the second she sees me.
