The more I watched him, the more I noticed things no one else did.
He always tied his apron twice, even when it was already secure.
He tapped the counter lightly when he was thinking.
He ran a hand through his hair when he was frustrated.
And whenever he talked to me…
his voice softened—just a little—but enough to make me dizzy.
"One hot Americano," he said, placing it in front of me.
"I didn't order—"
"I know."
He met my eyes.
"You look tired. This helps."
My cheeks warmed. "You shouldn't spoil me like this."
His answer was barely audible.
"Someone has to."
His quiet affection was more dangerous than any flirtation.
Because it felt real.
And I was falling—fast.