The rest of the afternoon blurred around me. Conversations hummed, coffee machines whirred, doors opened and closed, but it all felt muffled—background noise to the quiet, charged space between us.

Adrian hadn’t taken his eyes off me once.

I tried to pretend I was unaffected. I doodled in my notebook, tapped my latte cup, even scrolled through my phone for no reason at all. But no matter what I did, I could feel his gaze pulling me back to him.

Finally, I sighed, setting my pen down. “You know, it’s very rude to stare.”

His lips curved, slow and amused. “It’s only rude if you don’t like it.”

I blinked at him. “That’s… not how that works.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was just for me. “Then tell me you don’t like it.”

The challenge in his tone made my breath hitch. I opened my mouth, ready to deliver some witty retort—but the words never came. Instead, I sat there, silent, which seemed to please him far too much.

“You can’t say it,” he said softly, eyes glinting. “Because you do like it.”

My cheeks burned, and I quickly lifted my cup to hide the way my lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Only when I’m right.”

Cocky. Infuriating. Impossible. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

“Do you ever stop talking like you’re in a movie?” I asked, hoping humor might break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Depends. Do you like movies?”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, eyes glinting, “you’re still sitting here.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say I was only here because Clara had ditched me, or because my latte wasn’t finished, or because leaving would’ve been rude. But the truth was simple and dangerous.

I was still sitting there because I wanted to.

Before I could reply, Adrian shifted slightly closer. The space between us shrank until I could smell his cologne again—warm, spicy, intoxicating. My fingers twitched against the table, aching to move, to reach out, to touch.

And then, as if he’d read my mind, his hand brushed against mine. Just barely. A soft, fleeting contact that sent a bolt of electricity racing up my arm.

I froze.

So did he.

Neither of us moved, but the air around us thickened, charged with a tension that felt both terrifying and irresistible.

Finally, he leaned back, giving me space again, though his eyes never left mine. “See?” he murmured. “You felt that too.”

I swallowed hard, my voice shaky. “You’re very sure of a lot of things.”

“And I haven’t been wrong yet,” he said with quiet confidence.

I hated that he was right. Hated that a stranger could walk into my life and so effortlessly knock down every wall I’d carefully built. But at the same time… I’d never felt so awake.

I tried to breathe, to think clearly. “You know, normal people exchange numbers before they start… whatever this is.”

Adrian smiled like he’d been waiting for that. He pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket—who even carried those anymore?—and scribbled a number in clean, precise handwriting. Sliding the paper across the table, he tapped it lightly.

“For when you’re ready,” he said simply.

I stared at it, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My fingers itched to snatch it up, tuck it away safely. But some stubborn part of me hesitated.

“You’re very confident I’ll call.”

Adrian’s gaze softened, just slightly. “I’m confident you’ll want to.”

And then he stood, gathering his jacket with that same quiet ease he carried himself with. “Enjoy your latte, Mia.”

I watched him walk out, the bell above the café door jingling faintly as he disappeared into the street.

Only then did I realize I was smiling like an idiot. And only then did I notice the way my hand still tingled from that fleeting, accidental touch.