They slid back into the seats opposite each other. Up close, Miquela’s tailoring was even more precise. The jacket fit like it had been sewn directly to her body. The watch was understated but expensive. Her shirt cuffs were folded back once, exposing strong wrists and the faintest dusting of dark hair.
Sette noticed everything. She hated that she noticed everything.
“So,” Miquela said, folding her hands on the table. “The woman draws.”
“And the other woman pretends not to understand coffee,” Sette returned.
Miquela chuckled. “You caught me.”
“Immediately.”
“I am disappointed in myself.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Sette said. “It wasalmostconvincing.”
“Almost?” Miquela leaned forward, feigning injury. “You wound me.”
“You opened in Spanish.”
“Yes.”
“You switched to French because you assumed I’d find it charming.”
Miquela’s mouth twitched. “Did you not?”
Sette paused. There it was. Time for honesty. “It was efficient.”
Miquela studied her with open delight. “Efficient,” she repeated. “That is not the word most women use.”
“Most women don’t realize they’re being maneuvered,” Sette replied.
“Ah.” Miquela leaned back in her chair, pleased. “But you do.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed.”
The sunlight caught the angles of her face as she said it, easy and certain. Sette’s pulse flicked again. “I was curious,” she said. “It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Curiosity?”
“Observation,” Sette corrected. “I’m an artist. I watch my surroundings.”
“And what do you see?” Miquela asked.
The question hung between them, simple on the surface but not so simple underneath.
Sette let her gaze drift deliberately over Miquela’s face, her posture, the small scar on her knuckle she’d noticed earlier. “I see someone who knows exactly what she’s doing,” she said. “And enjoys it.”
Miquela’s tongue ran along the back of her teeth. “And you?” she asked. “Do you know what you are doing?”
Sette hesitated. The barista called out, “Flat white!” and Miquela rose smoothly, retrieving the cup with a nod. When she returned, she set it down carefully, aligning it with the edge of the table.
She took a sip and closed her eyes. “Hmm,” she murmured. “You were right.”
“I usually am,” Sette said, though the words were hollow in her mouth.
Miquela tilted her head. “You do not sound convinced.”
