Page 49 of When a Soul Cries

“You expecting somebody?”

I looked up. Rome was watching me over the top of his menu.

“My friend got my daughter.”

“The one that’s sick?”

I nodded, placing the phone beside my hand. “Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“One.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Damn. She a baby-baby.”

“My baby-baby,” I answered automatically.

Rome smiled, and there was something different about this one. Less cocky. “I can tell.”

My eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve checked that phone about twelve times since we sat down.”

“I have not.”

His eyes dropped.

Mine followed.

My hand was already back on my phone.

I slowly removed it.

Rome pressed his lips together, and I immediately pointed at him. “Don’t.”

“I ain’t say nothing.”

“You ain’t gotta. Your face loud.”

He chuckled and leaned back against the booth. “You always this defensive?”

“You always ask this many questions?”

“Only when I’m interested.”

I paused with my straw halfway to my lips. There he went again. I took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of my glass before setting it back down. “Don’t be.”

“Too late.”

The answer came so easily that I didn’t have one ready. I looked down at the menu even though I had already decided what I wanted, but I could feel him watching me.

That was the problem with Rome.

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

Not at my chest when I was talking. Not around the room looking for something better to pay attention to. Not at his phone every thirty seconds.