Ethan had just finished handing a paper bag of hot wings and fries to an elderly woman when the fluorescent lights above the counter flickered once—twice—like they were warning him. The bell above the door jingled brightly.
“Welcome to Sweet Chicken Place,” Ethan said automatically, forcing a customer-service smile as he looked up. “What can I get—”
The words died in his throat.
James stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the streetlights outside. His smirk was slow and sharp, the same one he’d worn on the rooftop earlier that night. He stepped inside casually, hands in his pockets, like he owned the small restaurant.
Ethan flinched hard. His back hit the edge of the counter; a stack of paper cups wobbled and nearly tipped over.
“You never told me you worked in a chicken restauran
