I hated that smile.
I hated it more than I wanted to admit.
The man at the restaurant had done nothing wrong. He hadn’t approached Owen. He hadn’t spoken to him. He hadn’t waved or tried to get his attention.
He had simply smiled.
And Owen had smiled back.
That was it.
A completely harmless interaction.
So why had it bothered me so much?
I had spent the entire drive home trying to convince myself that I was overreacting.
It didn’t work.
I glanced at Owen in the passenger seat. He was looking out the window, completely unaware of the war happening inside my head.
Or perhaps he was aware.
Owen had become surprisingly good at reading my moods.
He just didn’t always ask about them.
That irritated me even more.
By the time we reached home, I had calmed down enough to function nor
