Anything.
Thirty minutes later I was standing inside Blackthorne’s nearly empty student café waiting for caffeine strong enough to restart my organs.
And somehow—
somehow—
Rowan was there too.
Because apparently the universe enjoyed embarrassing me personally.
She sat near the windows typing aggressively on her laptop with headphones on, dark hair tied messily up like she hadn’t planned on seeing anyone today.
No makeup.
Oversized sweatshirt.
Glasses.
Fuck.
That hit harder than it should’ve.
She looked softer like this.
Less sharp around the edges.
More dangerous honestly.
Before I could decide whether to leave or pretend I didn’t see her, Rowan glanced up.
Saw me.
Her expression shifted immediately.
“Oh,” she mouthed quietly to herself.
Rude.
I walked over anyway carrying my coffee.
“You stalking me now?”
Rowan pulled one headphone off slowly.
“You’re the one standing at my table.”
“Good point.”
She looked annoyingly good for someone who probably got four hours of sleep.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I dropped into the chair across from her before she could object.
