“Just that you were nice. And hot. She mentioned thehotpart several times.” I’m digging my own grave here, but I can’t seem to stop. “No idea what you did to her, but she was acting weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good, I guess. She seemed…” I trail off, trying to find words that don’t give me away. “Really into you.”
The grin widens, and he appears so pleased with himself that I want to simultaneously kiss him and punch him.
He leans back against the counter, coffee in hand, completely relaxed. “So what’s she into? Like, what makes her happy besides drawing and mythology? What does she do for fun?”
I pause, considering how to answer this without repeating things he already knows. “She’s obsessed with weird history. Like, she’ll spend hours reading about obscure historical events or forgotten civilizations. She loves thunderstorms, says they make her feel alive. And she has this thing where she collects vintage postcards from places she’s never been.”
He’s nodding, absorbing every detail like it’s vital information.
“She also talks to herself when she’s working,” I add, because it’s true, and I can’t help myself. “Full conversations with her characters. Argues with them sometimes about their choices.”
He grins, wide and unguarded, like I just gave him the best gift in the world.
“That’s fucking cute,” he says, and I swear to God my insides just collapsed in on themselves.
Up close to him, that smile is lethal. There’s a small indent on his left cheek, not quite a dimple but enough to captivate me, and his eyes crease at the corners. And his lips are soft-looking and just a little chapped, like he chews on them when he’s thinking.
“She’s pretty great,” I admit, throat tightening. Talking about myself in the third person should feel silly. But somehow it gives me space tofeel everything. To open the dam a little. “She’s also stubborn as hell. Once she decides something, there’s no changing her mind.”
He leans forward. “I’m getting that impression.”
There’s a beat, half a second too long. His stare doesn’t waver, and I swear the room tilts. Heat blooms low in my stomach.
“She ever mention what she’s looking for? In a partner, I mean?”
His voice drops at the end, and it’s not fair. It’s allraspandintention. He’s not just asking; he’sfishing.
And it ruins me.
My heart punches against my ribs. My whole body goes still, like my skin is trying to catch every breath, every word, every twitch of his mouth. This is dangerous.So fucking dangerous.
“Why?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t shake. I lift my coffee, hands too steady to be real. “You planning something?”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t stop thinking about her. About last night. She’s got me completely fucking lost, and I barely know her.”
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
My mouth dries. He’s staring past me, at nothing really, like he’s ready to risk everything for a chance to fall. And I’m the only one who knows how deep this goes. I remember every heated glance, every second of tension from last night, every brush of his fingers and mouth.
And now he’s standing here saying he’s wrecked, and I believe him.
Because I am too.
I want to reach over and touch the stubble on his jaw. To breathe him in so badly it burns. But I’m not her. Not right now. So I school my face into something neutral, something brotherly, and pretend my entire world isn’t crumbling.
“Look,” I say carefully, setting my coffee down like it doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds. “I don’t know what your plans are, but don’t get too hung up on her.”
He frowns, just a flicker of it. And ithurtsto shut him down. But I have to.
“She’s not staying in town permanently. This is temporary for her. She’ll be gone in a few weeks, maybe less.”
His eyes darken, jaw tightens. But he nods, slowly, like he already knew that but just didn’t want to believe it.
I swallow hard, unable to stop myself from memorizing him in the silence that follows.
