Mila
Mila didn’t expect to see him again so soon.
That was the lie she told herself.
The truth was, after midnight, after honesty stripped bare, after standing forehead to forehead without touching, part of her had known this wasn’t over.
It was paused.
Suspended.
Waiting.
She spotted him at the art center late afternoon, leaning against the far wall like he belonged there — dark coat, unreadable expression, eyes tracking the room without looking predatory.
He didn’t approach her.
Didn’t speak.
He just… stayed.
That somehow made her pulse race more than if he’d claimed her attention outright.
“Is that your scary boyfriend?” one of the teenage girls whispered with a grin.
Mila shot her a look.
“He’s not my anything.”
The girl smirked.
“Yet.”
Mila turned back to the supplies
