“Is it?” I reply, stopping in front of her.Fuck, I didn’t mean to sound so grumpy.
Her lips twitch. “Depends who you ask.”
I cross my arms, studying her. “You left.”
She lifts a brow. “I did.” No apology. No fluster.
I respect it. I hate it. “You didn’t wake me,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens, just a fraction. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”
“I would have.”
“That’s debatable.”
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “No one leaves my bed without me noticing.”
Her mouth curves, slow and provocative. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Touché.I exhale through my nose, forcing myself to loosen my posture. This isn’t an interrogation. At least not an official one. “Why?” I ask.
She shrugs lightly. “You said one night. I didn’t want to complicate things.”
The words land harder than they should. “And yet here you are,” I say. “Having breakfast.”
“At the hotel where I’m staying,” she replies pointedly. “Which happens to have excellent views.”
“So you are staying here.” Inside, I’m groaning at my inane repetition of information we’ve already covered.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Right, then. Time to move this conversation along, or at least get my brain back online. I gesture to the empty chair across from her. “Can I join you?”
She hesitates, then nods. The pause irks me more than it should, and the chair scrapes against the floor as I pull it out a little too fast and sit down.
The table is small. Intimate. Our knees brush under it, but she doesn’t move her legs, and that calms me a little.
A server appears. I order coffee and a croissant. Silence stretches between us, both awkward and charged.
“You look tense,” Iris finally says lightly.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she says. “Like someone stole your wallet.”
“Or slipped out of my bed without waking me.” I know I need to let it go, or at least pretend that it doesn’t bother me, but my mouth did not get the memo.
Her gaze flicks up, meets mine, and holds. “I didn’t think you’d want to have breakfast together,” she says.
I lean back slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t strike me as someone who lingers once he’s decided that something is a one-off thing.”
She’s annoyingly perceptive. The server brings the items I ordered, and I take a sip of my coffee to hide my thoughtsand get it the fuck together. “What do I strike you as?” I ask.
She tilts her head. “Someone who compartmentalizes.”
I smile, slow and deliberate. She’s fucking brilliant, this woman. “Careful, Brooks. That almost sounds like profiling.”
