“Oh,right. Me either.”
When the check came, he tipped generously—more than generously—and thanked the waitress again with that warm sincerity that made my insides wobble.
He opened the café door for me and waited until I stepped through. The late-afternoon sun haloed him in a way that felt unfairly cinematic.
Back at the car, he did it again—opened my door with that quiet, old-fashioned courtesy that absolutely did not help my ability to form coherent thoughts.
“Ready?” he asked.
Not even remotely. But I nodded anyway. “Let’s go.”
He flashed me that devastating smile, and we got back on the road, heading toward whatever this was.
My chest hummed with a quiet steadiness that seemed to pull me closer to him with every passing mile.
I didn’t examine it too closely.
Because I already knew it wasn’t going away.
My nerves were all soft and pliable, like my veins had been filled with Prozac.
Arthur’s presence had that effect. Being around him was very much like being curled in front of a roaring fireplace after a long, cold walk. It would have been comforting if he hadn’t just told me he didn’t have time for romance.
That part kept looping in my head with irritating persistence. A gentle little warning bell. A reminder that whatever was happening between us wasn’t allowed to mean anything.
I hated that my body kept doing this around him. It had decided he’s a safe place without asking my permission first. Fartie Artie would call it pathetic and start drafting a breakup text to a man I am not dating.
Part of me whispered that I shouldn’t be here.
Another part whispered that I’d never felt more myself.
We weren’t touching, but something in the space between us felt charged. Like a conversation our bodies were having without permission.
My mother’s favorite pastime was to look me up and down, with that little sneer to her lips. Attention was never neutral in my house. It came with barbed comments, rules, and corrective consequences. So, the fact that I could sit here, taking up space, and not feel like I had to shrink was messing with my head, and I did not have the time to unpack it.
When Arthur shifted gears, his fingers brushed mine, and we both went very still.
A low heat stirred in my belly—and it felt terrifyingly right. The worst possible feeling to have around a man who had made it clear there was no room in his life for something real.
I pulled my hand back first. I had to. Because if I didn’t, I might follow that warmth wherever it wanted to lead. And I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not when he’d already told me the logical outcome.
And I wasn’t allowed to want something real. Not with him. Especially not with someone who thought romance was an unavailable luxury.
Also, I was not going to get emotionally attached to a man who treated a phone like a small bomb anda restaurant menu like a legal document. That was not a plan. That was a cautionary tale.
“Almost there,” he murmured.
“Good,” I managed. “Great. Perfect.”
He smiled without looking at me, like he could feel the panic edging under my calm.
And that was maybe the most alarming thing of all.
Because it made me wonder what else he could sense—and whether the pull in my chest, the embarrassing, impossible one—wasn’t just me imagining things…
But something answering him back.
10
