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She found a way to put herself back together, one broken piece at a time.

“Selene, could you come here for a moment? We need to talk.”

Why didn’t I put my headphones on?

Why?

If I had, I wouldn’t even hear him. Maybe he’d take the hint and leave me alone.

“Doamne.” (EN: God.)

“What?” he asks, frowning in confusion as he looks straight at me.

“Sure,” I reply with a fake smile. “Why not?”

I place the Kindle beside my phone and begin to stand, only to stop a second later.

Why exactly should I go to him?

He can walk.

Perfectly well, as far as I can tell.

So I ease back into my seat, settling in as though I never had any intention of getting up. A few seconds pass. When I make no move toward him, he looks at me again.

“What are you doing?” he asks, irritation slipping into his voice.

“I realized you’re perfectly capable of getting up and coming over here yourself,” I shoot back, “instead of expecting a woman to come to you.”

“Wonderful. Getting lectured this early,” he mutters.

“We’re in this situation this early because of you,” I argue, refusing to back down. “And yes, I’m lecturing you because you clearly still have a lot to learn. Considering you’re younger, I can’t say I’m shocked.”

He’s already on his feet, but he pauses for a moment, tipping his head back as he draws in a slow, measured breath.

Then he walks over.

Moving my bag aside and placing it on the table in front of him, he settles into the seat beside me.

“I’m thirty, Selene,” he says evenly. “I’m not a kid. And I don’t need lessons on how to treat a woman.”

“Maybe you know how to treat women your own age,” I fire back without hesitation.

I don’t even know why I said that.

There’s only a three-year difference between us. Not even a full three years. Even so, I’ve always thought of him as younger.

Too young.

It never used to bother me.

So why does it now?

Why does it even matter?

It shouldn’t.

“You’re practically my age,” he says, sounding exasperated. “We’re adults. A three-year age gap doesn’t mean anything.”