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My stomach drops.
I stop walking.
I unlock the screen.
Jaxon:
Good morning.
The breath leaves my lungs.
Instantly, immediately, without hesitation, my heart kicks into a sprint.
My hands shake as I type back.
Me:
Morning.
He replies within seconds.
Jaxon:
Coffee?
My pulse stutters.
He’s not even pretending this isn’t happening.
My fingers hover.
I should say no.
I should set boundaries.
I should choose responsibility and self-preservation and professionalism.
Instead, I type:
Me:
… where?
There’s a tiny pause, not long, but enough for my nerves to bounce around like marbles in a blender.
Jaxon:
The café across from the office.
15 minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
FIFTEEN.
I stare at the message.
I should run.
