7
Emma
“You didn’t find anything? It’s in a pink case…” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice, and the waiter gives me a sympathetic look.
“No, sorry,” he says. “Wish I could help. The couple who were sitting there just left, and they didn’t say anything about a phone.”
“Do you mind if I take a look around the table?” I ask, glancing over at the booth where I’d approached Marcus—who may or may not be an asshole, depending on his true identity.
“Sure, go ahead,” the waiter says.
I walk over to the booth, trying not to think about the man who’d sat there, but I’m not entirely successful. For some reason, my skin feels uncomfortably warm, and my breathing picks up as I picture his cool blue eyes and big hands. And if his hands are that size, how big is his—
No, stop. Focus on the
