Do you want me to cross this very small, very enormous distance between us?
I should say no.
I definitely should say no.
We are in public. We are tired. We are already standing too close to a cliff edge built entirely out of bad timing and worse judgement.
Instead, I sit very still.
“Yes,” I say.
His face changes.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that my skin wakes up everywhere.
He reaches across the table slowly, giving me every chance to move away.
I do not.
His thumb touches the corner of my mouth.
Light.
Warm.
Careful.
It should be nothing. It should be a practical gesture, the sort of thing you forget in five seconds.
It is not nothing.
His thumb brushes once, and heat moves through me so quickly I have to press my fingers against the edge of the table to stay still.
His eyes lift to mine as he sucks the egg off his thumb.
“There,” he says.
His voice is lower.
I should thank him.
I should make a joke.
I should do something that puts us both safely back where we were.
Instead, I look at his mouth.
Just once.
But he sees it.
His hand lowers, but his fingers rest on the table, close to mine.
“Pippa,” he says.
I am beginning to think my name in his voice is going to cause me serious emotional damage.
