The café was nearly empty, the hum of the espresso machine filling the silence between them. Olivia stirred her coffee absently, though she hadn’t taken a sip in ten minutes. Across from her, Ethan scrolled through his phone, pretending to be engrossed, but his fingers hovered motionless over the screen.

The air between them was thick—charged with something unsaid, something neither of them dared acknowledge.

"You’re quiet tonight," Ethan said finally, his voice too casual.

Olivia smirked, tapping her spoon against the rim of her cup. "I could say the same about you."

He glanced up, and for a second, their eyes met—too long to be accidental, too short to be intentional.

She looked away first. "Work’s just been busy."

"Right." He nodded, like he believed her. Like he wasn’t noticing the way her fingers fidgeted against the porcelain, or how she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze.

Silence stretched between them again, and Olivia felt it pressing against her ribs, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to say something—anything—to break it.

Instead, Ethan exhaled and leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth. His hand was inches from her shoulder.

Too close.

Not close enough.

"You’re overthinking something," he said, watching her carefully.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "And you think you know me that well?"

A smirk flickered across his lips, but his eyes—those damn eyes—held something softer. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think I do."

Her pulse stuttered. He always did this—always walked the edge of something dangerous, something she wasn’t ready to fall into.

So she leaned back too, just enough to close the distance, just enough for her shoulder to brush against his arm. It was the smallest touch, barely anything at all.

But neither of them moved away.

Not this time.