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"For stepping on your feet?"

"For this. All of it. For showing up tonight, for bringing me here, for reminding me I'm allowed to have fun sometimes."

His hand tightens slightly on my waist. "You're allowed to have a lot of things you've been denying yourself."

"Like what?"

"Like being something other than just a mom. Like having someone who shows up for you the way you show up for everyone else. Like—"

"Like what?" I press.

The song ends. Another one starts, something slower this time. Razor doesn't let go of me. Doesn't step back. Just keeps swaying, and this time it almost matches the rhythm.

"Like being seen," he says finally. "Really seen. Not just as a waitress or a cleaning lady or Luna's mom. As Daisy. The woman who's stronger than she gives herself credit for. The one who deserves better than what she's been settling for."

Chapter 5 - Razor

She's staring at me like I just said something profound instead of just stating the obvious, and all I can think about is how fucking beautiful she looks right now.

The dim bar lighting catches in her hair, turns the brown warm and golden. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine and the dancing and maybe from being this close to me. Those hazel eyes are wide and honest, and she's got this small smile on her lips that makes something in my chest pull tight.

And my cock is absolutely fucking throbbing.

Has been since I pulled her up from the booth, since I put my hand on her waist and felt how perfectly she fits against me. It's straining against my jeans, pressing hard against my briefs, and I'm desperately trying to keep enough space between us that she doesn't feel it and get the wrong idea.

Or the right idea.

Fuck, I don't even know anymore.

I should step back. Should put distance between us before this gets more complicated than it already is. But I don't want to stop. Could dance with her like this, badly, off-rhythm, completely fucking terrible at it, for the entire night and never get tired of it.

"You keep saying things like that," she says.

"Hm?"

"Like you see me. Like I matter."

"You do matter."

"To Luna, yeah. To my mom. But to anyone else?" She shakes her head slightly. "I'm just the waitress who refills coffee. The cleaning lady who empties trash cans. Nobody really sees past that."

I do.

I've been seeing past it for two months. Watching her smile at customers who don't deserve it, memorizing the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating, noticing every detail like a fucking obsessed stalker who can't leave well enough alone.

But I can't tell her that. Can't admit I've been following her home, timing my visits to the diner around her shifts, learning her schedule like it's scripture. That's not romantic. That's fucking creepy. That's the kind of thing that gets restraining orders filed and prospects kicked out of clubs for bringing heat nobody needs.

So, I just say, "Then they're not paying attention."

The song shifts, something even slower, some old country ballad I don't recognize. I keep swaying, and she moves with me, closer now than before. Close enough that if I let myself, I could pull her flush against me and she'd feel exactly how much I want her.

I don't let myself.

"Can I ask you something?" she says.

"Yeah."

"Why me?"