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My fingers fumble with the cup I'm holding. "Our what?"

"The social dynamics during peak hours. It's fascinating how humans cluster around caffeine distribution points."

Humans. There he goes again with that weird phrasing. But instead of finding it endearing like before, it stings. Because shouldn't someone who spent last night exploring every inch of my body be a little less... clinical?

"Sure." I turn to the espresso machine, grateful for the excuse to hide my face. "The usual?"

"Please." He settles at his regular spot, notebook in hand. Like nothing's changed. Like last night never happened.

Becca slides past me, whispering, "Want me to accidentally spill something on him?"

"Just watch the line for me," I mutter, but her loyalty makes my throat tight.

I bring Jack his drink, setting it down with enough force to get his attention. He looks up, green eyes studying me with that same intellectual curiosity he gives everything else.

"Thank you. I've been wondering—do you notice any correlation between beverage choice and relationship status?"

My jaw clenches. "Seriously?"

"Is that an inappropriate question?"

"No more inappropriate than anything else we did last night," I snap, quiet enough that only he can hear.

He blinks, tilts his head. "I assumed maintaining professional boundaries during business hours was standard protocol."

I walk away before he can see how much that hurts. Because of course—of course he'd be this rational about it. While I'm over here coming undone over a memory, he's taking notes about coffee preferences.

The morning rush dies down, and Jack's still there, scribbling in his notebook. My shoulders shake as I wipe down tables, getting closer to his corner. When I reach the table next to his, he closes his notebook.

"Vanessa."

"More observations needed?" The words come out sharper than intended.

"I apologize if I've caused offense. My behavior this morning was... inappropriate. Not the professional boundaries—those were necessary—but my failure to acknowledge what happened between us."

I pause, cloth suspended mid-wipe. "Go on."

"Would you go out with me tomorrow? I'd like to explain myself properly."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because..." The cloth twists in my hands. "You make me feel things I'm not ready for."

"Yet you felt ready last night."

Heat rushes to my face. "That was different."

"How so?"

"It just was." I turn away, but his hand catches mine.

"I want to understand." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Help me understand."

"There's nothing to understand. You're studying human behavior, right? Well, consider this a case study in self-preservation."

"And if I told you I'm not studying anything when I'm with you?"