"Yeah. Me neither."
I slide into the chair across from him. Accept the coffee he pushes toward me. It's perfect. The right amount of cream. Just sweet enough.
He remembered.
We sit in silence. Sipping coffee. The tension from last night still humming between us. But different now. Less explosive. More fragile.
"About yesterday." His voice is careful. Picking through words like landmines. "I don't. I don't regret it."
My stomach flips. "No?"
"No. But I don't want to make things harder for you. The café. Your reputation. If people found out."
Right. Because I'm the respectable business owner. He's the viral orc with the questionable past. The optics would be terrible.
I should feel relieved. That he's giving me an out. A way to keep this quiet. Keep it separate from the rest of my carefully ordered life.
Instead I feel something sharper. Something that tastes like disappointment.
"So what. We pretend it didn't happen?"
"No. But we keep it private. For now. Until things settle."
I nod. It makes sense. Perfect sense. Logical and reasonable and exactly what I should want.
So why does it feel like swallowing glass?
"Maris." He reaches across the table. Fingers brushing mine. "I'm not ashamed. Of you. Of this. I just don't want to be the reason you lose everything you built."
The sincerity in his voice cracks something open inside me. That careful wall I keep between myself and feeling too much. Wanting too much.
"I'm scared." The words escape before I can stop them. "This is. Fast. And messy. And I don't do fast and messy."
"I know."
"I like control. Plans. Things I can manage and predict and organize into color-coded lists."
His mouth quirks. Almost a smile. "I noticed."
"You're none of those things."
"No."
"You're chaos. In a very large. Very attractive package."
The smile spreads. "You think I'm attractive?"
I kick him under the table. Gentle. "Don't make me regret saying that."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
We fall quiet again. But easier this time. The sharp edges smoothed over. Still complicated. Still messy. But less terrifying somehow.
"I don't know how to do this." I stare into my coffee. Watch the cream swirl. "The casual thing. The secret thing. I'm bad at lying. Bad at hiding."
"Then don't lie. Just. Don't announce it."
"There's a difference?"
