I released her at once.
That seemed to catch her off guard, though she hid it quickly behind a cool look that sat oddly with the color still high in her cheeks.
“What,” she asked, “was that?”
I considered lying, decided against it, and said, “An error in judgment, apparently.”
Her brows lifted. “Apparently?”
“I am still reviewing the details.”
That almost got a smile out of her, but she suppressed it with visible effort.
She sat back slightly. “You don’t get to charm your way out of this just because you’ve decided to become self-aware in the last ten seconds.”
“I wasn’t aware I was charming.”
“You’re not. You’re being rude, territorial, and very strange.”
That was fair enough that I let it pass.
“You disappeared,” she added, and then seemed to realize she had said too much because her mouth closed immediately after.
I stilled.
There it was.
“You noticed,” I said quietly.
Her expression closed. “That is not the point.”
“It is part of it.”
She exhaled through her nose and pushed her glasses back up, buying herself a second. “You met me once, Pietro. Once. I don’t even know your last name and then you vanished for over a week, came back out of nowhere, inserted yourself into my table like some kind of?—”
She stopped, clearly searching for a word severe enough.
“Interloper?” I offered.
“Exactly,” she snapped. “And then you acted like Daniel was the problem.”
I held her gaze. “He was sitting in my chair.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Your chair?”
“In a broad, spiritual sense.”
That did it. A reluctant laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and just as quickly she looked annoyed at herself for letting it happen.
She shook her head once, but the warmth had gone unsteady now, tangled up with something else. Caution.
So when I spoke again, I let the humor fall away.
“Pietro Benetti. And you’re right.”
That caught her attention more effectively than denial would have.
“I was rude,” I said. “And I overstepped. Daniel did not deserve it, and neither did you.”
