I lifted a brow as he started toward the refrigerated case. “Thanks for not cross-examining me!” I called after him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, smirk in place. “You’ll end up telling me everything eventually. We both know it.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. I’d rather make you smile than make you mad,” he shot back. “Pushing for answers never works anyway.”
I laughed despite myself, soft and surprised. “Yeah. It’s not the best tactic.”
He grabbed a bottle of iced tea, walked back slowly—like he was giving me time to notice the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders—and slid it across the counter. His fingers brushed mine on purpose when I took it, lingering just long enough to send a little spark up my arm.
“What’s happening? You’re enjoying this,” I said, trying to sound accusing but mostly just breathless.
“Little bit,” he admitted, leaning in again so his voice was private, meant only for me. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. Always have been.”
My heart did a stupid, happy bass drum beat. “I’m not flustered.”
“Sure you’re not.” His grin turned downright wicked for half a second before softening. “Your cheeks say otherwise, though. Red.”
I swatted lightly at his arm. “Shut up.”
He caught my wrist gently, thumb brushing the inside where my pulse was racing, and held it there for a beat without pushing. “Make me.”
I met his eyes, the air between us suddenly thick and sweet. “Careful, Levi. I might try.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth for the briefest second, then back up, dark and warm. “I’m counting on it.”
He let go slowly, fingers trailing off like he didn’t really want to. “Text me if you need anything,” he said, voice low again. “I’m being serious.”
“Even at work?”
“Especially at work.” He backed toward the door, eyes still locked on mine. “I like knowing how you are.”
I snorted, but it came out shaky. “That sounded way more intense than you meant it to.”
“Did it?” He grinned, all boyish mischief and something deeper underneath. “Guess I’ll work on my phrasing.”
The bell chimed behind him as he stepped out, but his gaze lingered through the glass for a second longer, warm and knowing, before he turned away.
I stood there, hand still tingling where he’d touched it, cheeks burning, heart doing cartwheels. I marveled at how easily he did that—how he walked in, joked around, made me laugh, and somehow lowered the volume on my brain without even trying.
I shook my head and turned back to the register, forcing myself to focus on normal things—inventory numbers, the humof the coolers, the faint smell of coffee that never quite went away. This was my life now. Fluorescent lights. Predictable hours. A place I could show up and be useful without explaining myself.
I could handle this.
I was handling it.
A moment later, my phone buzzed on the counter—Matt’s name lighting up the screen.
Matt: You alive?
I sighed, unlocking it.
Me: Allegedly.
Matt: You sleeping?
I glanced up at the bright lights, the windows, the quiet afternoon stretching ahead as I considered having a T-shirt made that said:No, I am not sleeping.
