"Uh-huh." She leans on the counter, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "Didn't realize you were keeping track of my evening schedule."
"Just looking out for a friend," I say, the word 'friend' feeling entirely inadequate for what we've become.
"Is that what we are?" she asks, her voice dropping lower. "Friends?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we haven't said since that night. I lean forward, our faces inches apart across the counter.
"I think we're a bit past friendship, don't you?" My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
Her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn't back away. "Axel?—"
"How's Poppy?" I ask, changing the subject before we get too deep in a public place.
The tension in her shoulders eases slightly. "Better. Fever's gone. She's been sleeping through the night again."
"That's good." I reach across the counter and brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "And you? How are you sleeping?"
Her breathing slows, eyes going darker.
"Not great."
"Me neither," I admit, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
We're too close, the counter between us the only thing keeping this appropriate for a public café. I can see the quick rise and fall of her breathing, the slight part of her lips. All I can think about is how she tasted, the soft sounds she made when I was inside her.
I want to kiss her right here, right now, customers be damned. I want to climb over this counter and finish what we started that night. The force of the desire stuns me. It's not just physical; it's something deeper, more possessive. Something that makes me want to stake a claim that everyone can see.
My control snaps. I can’t listen to her talk about us like we’re just friends, not after knowing how she tastes, how she falls apart in my hands. The world drops away. I lean in, haul her close by the back of her neck, my lips on hers hard, claiming, hungry. Just enough to let her know she’s mine. I don’t care who’s watching. She’s shaking when I let her go, but I’m not sorry. I want the whole damn town to know whom she belongs to.
Sadie freezes, her entire body going rigid. She jerks back like I've burned her, eyes wide with something I've never seen in them before, pure, undiluted panic.
"What are you doing?" she hisses, glancing frantically around the café.
"I'm sorry, I just?—"
"No," she cuts me off, voice sharp as glass. "Not here. Not like this."
The rejection stings, hot and immediate. "I didn't think?—"
"That's right. You didn't." Her hands are shaking as she wipes them on her apron, her breathing shallow and quick. "You can't just— I have customers. I have staff. I have?—"
She stops abruptly, turning away to compose herself. When she faces me again, her expression is locked down tight, professional mask firmly in place, but I can see the tremor in her hands.
"I think you should go," she says quietly.
Annoyance flares in my chest. It was just a kiss, for God's sake. But as I study her face, I realize this isn't about the kiss at all. There's real fear in her eyes, something deeper than embarrassment or workplace propriety.
"Sadie," I say, keeping my voice low. "What's wrong? What did I do?"
She shakes her head minutely, eyes darting to a table of customers watching us with interest. "Not now."
"Then when?" I press, leaning closer. "Talk to me."
"I can't do this here." Her voice cracks slightly on the last word. "Please."
The vulnerability in that single "please" deflates my frustration instantly. Something is seriously wrong, and I've just made it worse by acting impulsively.
"Okay," I say, stepping back to give her space. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
