Emma:
I shouldn’t be this nervous carrying two drinks and a cherry Coke.
I serve strangers all night. I carry heavier trays. I flirt for better tips. I’ve had customers try to hand me their phone numbers written on napkins, checks, receipts, dollar bills—once, horrifyingly, a slice of lemon.
But none of that ever made my knees shake
or my heart thump
or my thoughts dissolve into warm, fizzy static.
This?
Walking toward Wright?
This is… dangerous.
His eyes are already on me.
I can feel it from across the damn room.
He looks like he’s been sitting perfectly still, waiting for me to come back, like any movement might break the thread between us.
I stop at their booth and set the drinks down.
Alex accepts his immediately, already smiling like someone who knows too much.
Wright do
