The coffee shop was loud that afternoon, but somehow you only noticed his voice.

“Here, try this,” he said, sliding his cup across the table. Your fingers brushed, and he didn’t pull his hand away right away.

You laughed nervously, pushing the cup back. “Why do you always make me taste your order first?”

“Because you never trust my choices,” he replied, that half-smile tugging at his lips. “But then you end up liking them.”

Your chest tightened. It was the way he looked at you when he said it—steady, like there was something unsaid behind his words. You swallowed, unsure whether to meet his eyes or look away.

But then, as quickly as it came, the moment broke. His phone buzzed, and he leaned back, attention shifting elsewhere. He typed a quick reply, his expression unreadable.

“You were saying?” he asked casually, like nothing had happened at all.

And you wondered, not for the first time, if he even realized what he was doing to you.