Viktoria POV
The easy grin continues playing on his lips.
He persists, “Come on, Viktoria. Let’s grab lunch. The closest restaurant’s just five minutes away if we drive.”
I frown, shaking my head. “We’re not supposed to leave. Break time is just one hour.”
He chuckles a low sound. “Exactly. Five minutes there, five minutes back. We can eat in the car if it comes to that.”
I glance up at him, then quickly look away. “I don’t drive. I mean—” I gesture vaguely at nothing. “I don’t have a car.”
“I do,” he says easily. “Come on.”
There’s something so annoyingly normal about him. He talks like we’ve known each other for years, like he’s that friendly neighbor who mows his lawn early on Saturday mornings and waves every time you step outside. That kind of easygoing confidence that reminds
