“Double oat-milk latte, extra cinnamon, no foam," said a voice behind me.
I turned, startled. Ben Carter stood there with his signature easy grin and a coffee cup extended like a peace offering.
“You stalked my order?" I asked, suspicious.
“You tweeted it during that zoning meeting you hated. Figured you could use the reminder of simpler times."
I accepted it warily. “You know how many zoning meetings I hate?"
“That's what makes it a gamble," he winked.
Ben was the structural engineer everyone liked—tall, decent jawline, allergic to drama. A safe guy. A good guy.
Which is probably why I flinched when he brushed a crumb off my collar.
In the glass atrium across the floor, Andrew was mid‑presentation, all swagger and sharp angles. He wasn't even looking at me. Not until Ben laughed a
