Should’ve ended it.
It didn’t.
Because he didn’t move.
Just stood there like he was processing something he didn’t want to name.
“That your type?” he asked.
I almost laughed. “You don’t know my type.”
A pause.
Then:
“Do I need to?”
That landed wrong.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just wrong.
Istared at him.
He stared back.
Neither of us spoke for a moment too long.
Then I said, carefully, “What is this?”
His expression shifted immediately.
Subtle.
Controlled again.
“Nothing,” he said.
But it didn’t match the question he just asked.
Or the way he was still standing here.
Or the way he had clearly been watching me for longer than he wanted to admit.
I pushed off the table. “You don’t ask questions like that for ‘nothing.’”
“I wasn’t asking anything,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow.
He paused.
Then corrected himself slightly:
“It came out wrong.”
