After parting ways with Zoey, I step out of the cafe, the scent of roasted coffee beans still clinging to my sleeves. The sky's starting to shift color—blue softening into rose, as if the day is gently exhaling.
I pull out my phone and check my assignment list like some kind of compulsive ritual. Still there. All of them. None magically disappeared while I was pretending to be social for once.
Then a sharp whistle cuts through the quiet air behind me. I jump, heart skidding into my throat. My head whips around, and for a second, I swear I'm ready to punch someone. I hate catcalling.
Until I see him. Felix. Of course.
He's standing beside his Kawasaki, one foot on the curb, leather jacket catching the sun like a threat and a smile blooming across his face like he's just delighted to scare me to death.
"What the hell," I mutter.
