{GIANNA}
Silence stretches between us, long enough to make me think he won't answer. But then he slides into the seat across from me, pinning me with those vivid blue eyes that have my heart fluttering. "I'm Michael Hart. Who are you?"
I drop my gaze to my hot chocolate again, needing a moment to breathe. Why is it that every time he looks at me like that, my brain turns to mush? His stares are too damn intense. I take a sip, hoping the warmth will help me pull myself together.
"I think you know exactly who I am," I tell him, cradling the warm mug between my hands. The drink tastes exactly the way it would if I had made it myself. And that realization shifts something in my perception of him. Why would he put such effort into making it just right? Why me?
