el

o quiet. The kind of silence that's full

espresso machine hisses, and the smell of burnt beans fills the air. I don't know what I'm doing her

isn

after a night of no sleep. There's something abou

sleep muc

he counter, watchi

I hand him a mug. He takes i

you yesterda

omach

ow, slo

u," he says, simple. Like

hy am I

hair behind my ear, fingertips barely touching skin. I feel

ly, "I don't trust you..

ock the brea

both of us. And for a second, I let it happen. I let myself pretend I'm just a

I'm

ither

ca

't have k

. That's what draws me in-and what makes me hesitate. She's hiding s

as a kiss I can't forget and a

t with Zara

hting a cigarette with steady hand

kno

ven't you sh

ause some part of m

t part is going t

she's

lready halfway