Sophia’s POV

His forehead puckers. Then he smiles and scoffs, as if he knows something I don’t.

He pockets his phone, then moves to the table to pick up his journal and pen. He walks to his safe, opens it, keeps his journal and pen inside, then shuts it before tracking back to the table.

He grabs our drinks, and I almost throw a fist up in celebration. He grabs his Ziploc bag, too, and starts to move without a word.

My mouth falls open. I stare at his broad back, watching him ...