I told myself not to look at him again.

It was reckless, the way my eyes kept betraying me, sneaking glances when I thought he wasn’t paying attention. Except he always was. Adrian had a way of making me feel like I was under a spotlight, even in a crowded café.

“So,” Clara said suddenly, stirring her iced tea with exaggerated interest. “Adrian, what do you do?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes stayed on me, like the question had been directed at him but my reaction mattered more. Finally, he leaned back, easy and unbothered.

“Business,” he said simply.

Clara raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “It keeps me busy. And flexible.”

That was it. No explanation, no details. Just enough to intrigue me, to make my mind spin with questions I didn’t dare ask.

Clara, of course, wasn’t as cautious. “Flexible for what?”

His smile deepened, slow and deliberate, and when his eyes found mine again, I felt it everywhere. “For the right distractions.”

My stomach flipped. I ducked my head quickly, pretending to scribble something in my notebook, though my pen hovered uselessly above the page.

Clara smirked knowingly. “Right. Well, unfortunately, I have to run. Meeting, deadlines, life—boring things.” She stood and winked at me again. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I gave her my best traitor look, but she only grinned wider before gliding out the door, leaving me trapped under Adrian’s quiet intensity.

I sipped my latte, desperate for something—anything—to fill

“You’re nervous,” he said finally, voice low and steady.

My head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely toward my hand. “You keep tapping your pen. You’ve already rewritten the same line three times.”

I glanced down. Damn it. He was right.

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, his eyes locked on mine. “Then what are you?”

The café suddenly felt too warm. “I don’t know. Curious, maybe.”

His lips curved. “Curious about me?”

I should’ve denied it. I should’ve laughed, brushed it off, said something clever to break the tension. But the truth slipped out before I could stop it.

“Yes.”

The word hung between us, fragile and dangerous.

Adrian didn’t move for a moment, just studied me like he was trying to decide what to reveal. Finally, he leaned back, giving me a smile that was equal parts charming and unsettling.

“Good,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “You still haven’t told me what you do, you know.”

He tilted his head. “Would it make a difference?”

“Yes,” I said honestly.

For the first time, his smile faltered. Not completely—just a flicker, quick enough that I might have imagined it. “I’ll tell you one day,” he said softly. “But not today.”

Something in his tone made my chest tighten. Not today. Which meant there was something. Something worth hiding.

I should’ve stood up. I should’ve said goodbye, thanked him politely, and walked away before I got tangled in something I didn’t understand.

But instead, I found myself smiling, just a little. “You’re very sure there’ll be a next time.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course there will.”

The certainty in his voice sent shivers down my spine. And when his gaze lingered on me, unblinking, unyielding, I realized that deep down—despite every warning bell going off in my head—I wanted him to be right.