I tell myself I’m not going to look at Asher again. I’m going to sit here, drink my coffee, eat my breakfast, and pretend like the last five minutes didn’t just rearrange something in my chest.
My resolve breaks in the fastest three seconds I’ve ever experienced.
My gaze drifts back to him before I can stop it, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. He hasn’t moved much. He still stands near the entrance in a way that feels deliberate. He doesn’t feel like another person grabbing breakfast, but someone who’s more aware of everything in this diner. And he’s still watching me. The weight of his gaze presses against my skin, subtle but constant.
“Knew it,” my dad mutters under his breath.
“You’re staring again,” my mom says sternly.
I blink. “I’m not staring,” I murmur, even though I abs
