The dinner.Neutral ground.Public.Safe.
A place where neither of us is on the other’s turf.
For a second he doesn’t move.
He just watches me.
Those green eyes glittering in the soft afternoon light filtering through the Lunchroom windows.
Then his big hand reaches across the table and settles over mine.
The contact is simple.
Gentle, even.
But the second his skin touches mine a jolt of awareness shoots up my arm and straight into my chest like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
Heat.
Steady and grounding and dangerous all at once.
His thumb brushes once across my knuckles.
A little possessive.
But not pushing.
Just there.
“I’m glad you asked,” he says quietly.
His voice is low.Rough around the edges like gravel and smoke.
“Sounds good, Honey.I can pick you up if you’d rather?”
Honey.
There it is again.
My stomach does that weird little flip that I absolutely refuse to examine too closely.
“No,” I say quickly, my voice coming out a little breathless.“I think I’d rather meet there.”
His gaze holds mine another long moment.
Like he’s weighing something.Or maybe just memorizing me.
“Okay then,” he says finally, squeezing my hand once before letting go.“I’ll be there.”
No hesitation.Not even a flicker.
I watch him closely—because I can’t seem to stop myself from doing that when he’s around—and there’s no teasing smile, no smug little look like he’s just won something.
No hint that this is a game to him.
Just that steady, unwavering calm he seems to carry around like a second skin.
His green eyes stay on mine, clear and intent, like what I just said was exactly what he expected all along.
