“Iced green tea with passionfruit?” I asked. “Less sugar?”
Dane paused mid-step, his expression softening. Like I’d said the first right thing he’d heard all day.
I was already ringing it up, warmth settling low in my chest at getting his order right.
“Yeah,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. ““And, um…”
He glanced toward the display case.
“Sorry, we’re out of the frosted carrot cake muffins. Someone grabbed the last one earlier.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Maybe that was too much.
Normal people didn’t keep track of other people’s snack habits like that. I braced for him to look at me weird. Instead, Dane just smiled.
“Just the iced tea, then,” he said.
“Got it.”
He reached into his wallet, pulled out his card and handed it to me. The machine beeped softly as the payment went through.
I handed it back, fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
It shouldn’t have been anything. It wasn’t anything. Yet…
“Thanks.”
“Yeah,” I replied, a little too quickly. “No problem.”
I stepped away from the register before I could overthink it, busying myself by preparing his drink right away. Still, my attention kept drifting.
Dane was standing on the other side of the counter, but he wasn’t really there.
His gaze was fixed somewhere past me, unfocused, like his mind had wandered off and forgotten to come back.
I wanted to ask what was wrong, which was new. I didn't usually do that with customers, especially not ones I barely knew.
But something about Dane made it harder to look away. The urge to ask lingered anyway, even though it felt like stepping over a line I wasn't sure I was allowed to cross.
My mouth moved anyway. “Rough day?”
He blinked, like he hadn’t expected to be pulled back into the moment, his gaze shifting to me.
Up close, I could see the tension around his eyes and the slight tightness in his jaw more clearly. Something in my chest pulled at the sight of it.
“It’s just…” Dane trailed off, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was deciding whether this was worth saying out loud.
Then he gave a short, almost self-conscious laugh, like he’d decided not to care.
“My family’s been on my case lately,” he said. “About my dating life.”
I stilled, fingers tightening slightly around the spoon in my hand. “Oh?”
“They think I should stop messing around,” he went on, tone turning wry. “Settle down. You know. The usual, and?—”
Liquid splashed against the rim, a few drops spilling onto my hand, but I barely registered it.
I just kept moving, finishing the drink on autopilot while the rest of his words blurred into background noise. For some reason, I didn't want to hear more.
Not about his dating life, or the people he went home with. Before the thought could settle, I shoved it aside and focused on the drink instead.
