SoIhear it.
Everything about him is just… adorably odd.
“Odd?” he repeats, eyes still down, dabbing at the mess with a pitiful napkin. “Perhaps compared to the kinds of people who frequent this place. But adorable? That couldn’t be further from the truth—if you knew anything about me at all.”
Wait.
Did I say that out loud?
He fumbles. “Which you don’t. Know anything about me, I mean. Because we just met. Today. Right now. In this… moment.”
He clamps his mouth shut like he’s trying to keep more words from tumbling out. He looks up at me, his blush turning an even deeper shade of red as it crawls down his neck.
We lock eyes—or I assume we do, even through his dark shades—and everything seems to freeze. Just one second.
But it stretches, like time caught its breath.
And just when I think something strange is happening again, a softplopbreaks the spell. And it’s as if all the sound rushes back in at once.
We both glance down. The soaked napkin has given up, sinking into the puddle of coffee.
I open my mouth to say he doesn’t need to clean up, but a loud, sharp laugh erupts behind me, making me jump. I turn, already annoyed, and spot Miss Louis Vuitton at her table, one of her clones whispering behind her menu.
By the time I look back…
He’s gone.
I scan the shop, but there’s no sign of him. No tall guy. No stud muffin. No trace. As if he just… vanished. Like he hadn’t been there moments before.
Howdoes someone that tall vanish so fast?
I chuckle softly and shake my head, stepping toward the table to handle the mess… only to pause.
Because there is no mess.
The spilled coffee is gone. The newspaper is gone. The mug?
Clean.
And inside it, perfectly upright and seemingly untouched, is a single white daisy.
I stare at it for a beat then pick it up.
The petals are delicate, the scent soft and nostalgic.
I smile despite myself and glance toward the door, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him. But all I see are loud, glittering patrons sipping oat milk lattes like nothing unusual happened.
I sigh and turn back to the table, still holding the daisy.
Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Three
WHEN THE CHEESE GIVES YOU PIZZA
Stupid, pretentious luxury hotel.
That’s what this fucking place is. All gilded corners and gaudy opulence, with gold-plated door handles and a chandelier big enough to bankrupt a small country. The doorman puffs up his chest like he owns the damn place. Like he’s guarding royalty instead of escorting out-of-town rich assholes and influencers with fake teeth.
