ARMS BRACED AGAINST the counter of the coffee shop, I watched the barista fella pour milk into a silver jug and stick it under a nozzle on the machine. “I’m going back.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ethan muttered.
“Tonight.” I twisted and, meeting his dark gaze, nodded. “I need to know.”
“I think you should wait.”
“What if I can’t?”
“What if you have no choice?” When I released a low growl, he straightened from his propped position on the counter and turned to me. “Listen, I get that you’re antsy.”
I could’ve argued that he didn’t ‘get it’, but knew it’d just make me a git—because he would get it. So I kept my mouth shut and let him get the lecture off his chest.
“I get that you feel like s**t over it all. But she obviously needs space. If this week tells you nothing else, it sho
