Jennifer’s POV
I chewed slowly, trying to stretch the bite as long as possible, as if the longer I focused on the taste of overcooked batter, the less I’d notice him. But I did notice him. Every small movement. The way his fork clicked against the plate. The way his jaw tightened as he chewed. The way his eyes lingered on me just long enough to make my heart stumble, before flicking away again.
It was unbearable.
When the silence grew so sharp it threatened to cut me, he suddenly pushed back from the table. The scrape of his chair against the floor made me flinch. Without a word, he picked up his plate, stacked mine on top, and carried them into the kitchen.
I sat frozen, fork halfway to my mouth, pulse stuttering.
The sound of running water reached me a moment later. Dishes clinking
