Page 10

CHAPTER 10

VANESSA

I can't focus on the espresso machine. My mind keeps drifting back to last night—Jack's hands, his mouth, the way he... The milk overflows, snapping me back to reality.

"Third time you've done that today." Becca's voice carries that knowing lilt that makes my cheeks burn. "Someone got laid."

"Keep your voice down." I grab a cloth, wiping furiously at the counter. My skin tingles just thinking about how Jack's fingers felt trailing down my?—

"Oh my god, you're blushing! Was it that good?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Since when?" Becca leans against the counter, blocking my escape route. "You told me every excruciating detail about Trevor's premature situation."

"This is different." The cloth's getting threadbare where I'm twisting it.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. It just..." My hands tremble as I try to reload the coffee grinder. "It was intense. Too intense."

"Too intense?" Becca's eyebrows shoot up. "Like, call-the-police intense or call-your-gynecologist intense?"

"Becca!"

"What?"

I abandon the grinder, dragging her into the break room. "It was... I've never... God, I can't even describe it. The way he touched me, like he knew exactly what I needed before I did. And his focus—like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered."

"That sounds amazing. So why do you look like you're planning to flee the country?"

"Because it was perfect. And perfect things don't happen to me. Perfect things are trap doors waiting to drop me into another emotional hellscape."

"Or maybe," Becca says, poking my arm, "you finally met someone worth taking a risk for. Someone who makes you forget to overthink everything."

I press my palms against my eyes. "That's what scares me."

"How is that something to be scared of?" she asks, almost indignant. "This is what you've been waiting for! It's what you deserve!"

"Look, Becca, you don't understand." I slide down the break room wall, sitting on the cold tile floor. "Every time I think I've found someone decent, the other shoe drops. Remember Marcus?"

"The guy who said your opinions were 'cute'?"

"Yeah. Or David, who wanted me to quit my job because working with other men made him insecure. Or Trevor?—"

"We don't talk about Trevor," Becca interrupts, sliding down next to me. "Jack's different."

My stomach flips at his name. "That's what worries me. He's so different it's scary. The way he looks at me, like he's trying to memorize every detail. The questions he asks—they're deep, meaningful. Not just the usual small talk guys use before trying to get in your pants."

"And that's... bad?"

"It's terrifying." I pull my knees to my chest. "Because if this is real, if he's actually as genuine as he seems, then I could really fall for him. And when it ends?—"

"If it ends."

"When it ends, it's going to destroy me. I can feel it." My voice cracks. "I like him so much already, Becca. The way my skin buzzes when he's near, how he makes me laugh, how safe I feel when he holds me. I haven't felt this way about anyone. Ever."

"Then maybe?—"

"And that's exactly why I should run. The higher I climb, the harder I'll fall."

Becca grabs my hand. "Or maybe you'll fly."

"When did you get so philosophical?" I try to joke, but my voice wavers.

"When my best friend started sabotaging her chance at happiness because she's scared."

The bell chimes and my heart stops. Jack walks in, looking exactly like he did before last night—composed, curious, with that same half-smile that makes my stomach flip. No hint of what happened between us, no trace of how his hands had...

"Good morning." His voice is steady, professional. "I'd like to observe your morning rush patterns, if you don't mind."

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?"

My breath catches. "I'd say you're lying."

"Have I lied to you yet?"

"I..." The warmth of his hand spreads up my arm. "Fine. Dinner."

His smile reaches his eyes. "I promise you won't regret it."