The diner felt smaller somehow, the air heavier with anticipation I couldn’t name.
I tried to keep busy, refilling coffee cups, wiping tables, ignoring the nervous flutter in my stomach. But it was useless. He was already there.
Damian Cross.
He didn’t have to sit down. His presence filled the space, commanding the room without a word. Leather jacket, ink crawling up his neck, icy blue eyes scanning as though he could see straight through me.
I caught myself staring at him. Again.
He smiled—just the corner of his mouth—but it made my pulse jump. I told myself it was nothing, just confidence, just charm. But it wasn’t. Not for me. Not anymore.
“Busy night?” he asked, voice smooth, casual, but with that edge that made me want to crawl into myself.
I shrugged, trying to hide the way my
