Monday morning was supposed to feel like a fresh start.
For Lia Henderson, it felt like stepping back into a war zone. The espresso machine hissed in protest, the cash register beeped impatiently, and the faint smell of burnt toast lingered like a judgmental ghost.
And—of course—Ethan Cruz was already there.
"…You're early," Lia muttered, juggling a tray of croissants while mentally preparing herself to resist his grinning charm.
"Early?" he said, leaning back in his chair with an annoyingly perfect stretch. "…I thought I'd surprise my favorite not-a-date."
"…Favorite not-a-date?" Lia echoed, mortified. "…You're impossible."
"True," he said softly. "…But charmingly so."
Her cheeks warmed. "…Stop saying that," she muttered.