For a second, his gaze lingered on mine. I couldn’t tell if he was about to say something or if I was just hoping he would.
“I need to get the suits laundered,” he said.
I followed his gaze to the garment bags.
“Right.”
A quiet disappointment settled in my chest before I could make sense of it.
“You’ll have to send me the bill.”
Dane immediately shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I do,” I said, more firmly than I meant to.
A beat. Then he nodded. “Alright.”
I looked down at my keys again. It was easier than holding his gaze. Easier than standing there trying to understand why everything felt slightly off when nothing had actually changed.
“Seth.”
I looked up immediately.
Something shifted in his expression when our eyes met. Whatever distance had been there earlier seemed to fade away. He stepped closer and kissed me without hesitation.
It was brief, painfully familiar, and it threw me off more than it should have.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed lightly along my cheek.
“I’ll see you around,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” My voice came out tighter than I meant it to.
He held my gaze for a moment longer, then turned toward his car.
I stayed where I was as he left, the sound of the engine fading too quickly in the distance.
Dane didn’t come by the café.
There wasn’t really a reason for him to. Whatever we’d been doing had already run its course, and it made sense that things would settle back into place again.
Except he didn’t come by at his usual times either.
There was no slow appearance in the afternoons, no casual stop-in that didn’t need an excuse. Just nothing.
The only sign of him came later: a photo of the laundry bill sent over text, followed by a thumbs-up emoji after I transferred the money.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but I found myself staring at the message longer than necessary, like there was something in it I was supposed to understand beyond what it said.
Something that suggested this wasn’t just an ending being handled neatly.
I told myself not to overthink it. That was becoming a familiar thought lately.
I should have texted him. Something casual and uncomplicated. But every time I started to type something, my mind stalled at the same point.
If I reached out and he didn’t respond the way I expected, then there would be no way to go back to pretending nothing had changed.
And if he did respond exactly the way I feared, then I would know for certain what I wasn’t ready to know.
