Page 139 of They Are Mine

I glance up.

He’s watching me.

Just a flicker. Just a moment.

And then he turns a page, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

Oh.

Oh, I like this game.

I watch him between bites.

Not staring. Just studying.

The way he cuts his food, precise but unhurried. The way he reads while he eats, taking thoughtful bites, actually tasting his meal.

A man of discipline.

Of control.

But beneath that? I can see it, the potential for ruin.

I imagine him unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves, loosening his tie after a long day.

I imagine him scoffing at the idea of losing himself.

And I imagine myself proving him wrong.

We glance up at the same time.

Our eyes meet.

Heat licks up my spine.

I let a small, slow smile touch my lips before dropping my gaze, picking at my food with careful, dainty little bites.

I want him to wonder about me. I want him to ask himself who I’m waiting for.

If I’ve been stood up. If I’ll leave here alone.

I finish my meal at the same time he does, the last bite melting on my tongue as I push my plate aside, dabbing my napkin against my lips.

The waiter approaches. “Dessert?” he asks.

I glance at Elliot’s table.

He hasn’t asked for the check yet.

He’s not leaving.

Not yet.

I smile. “Yes,” I say. “Two.”

The waiter’s brows lift, just slightly.

I lift my book and pretend to read again. “I know he’ll be here.”

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