I laugh.
His attention drops briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The movement is so quick I almost convince myself I imagined it.
“Do you like it?”
He studies me for a beat, his expression intense. “I understand why someone would.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No.”
My hopes deflate. “No, you don't like it?”
“No, that wasn't your question.”
I stare at him.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
Oh. He's messing with me.
Hades—the man I mentally categorized yesterday as someone who probably scares children merely by existing—is teasing me.
And I like it.
Way more than I should.
“So... do you like it?”
“I haven't decided.”
I glance at the bookmark. “You're halfway through it.”
“Doesn't mean I've decided.”
“You're stubborn.”
“So I've been told.”
I smile.
But it fades when I realize I'm standing beside his table like some weird woman who followed him into a coffee shop.
Except I didn't.
I came here for lunch. He was already here.
Which means—He didn't come looking for me.
The disappointment is immediate. And completely stupid.
I barely know him.
Why would he come looking for me?
“Anyway.” I gesture toward the counter. “I'll let you get back to it.”
Something changes in his expression. “You don't have to.”