Page 43 of Smolder

He raises both hands. “Wouldn’t dare.”

Liar.

I turn back to the espresso machine, trying to ignore the way my heart kicks every time the chorus swells. I’m pouring coconut milk when he clears his throat.

“I’ll take a coffee.”

“You already have one.”

“I know.”

I glance over. “You planning to bathe in caffeine today?”

“Possibly.” He sets another cup on the counter. “Black.”

I make it. Slide it to him.

He doesn’t take it.

Instead, he turns the cup so the sleeve faces me.

Written in thick black Sharpie is one word.

Red.

I blink.

My mouth opens. Closes.

I look up at him. He’s watching me closely now. No grin. No joke. Just that steady, intent focus he gets on calls when something matters.

“Cute,” I say weakly. “You’re practicing your handwriting.”

He nods toward the espresso machine. “Another.”

My pulse ticks up. “Dax?—”

“Please.”

I swallow and make another coffee. This time my hand shakes just a little when I set it down.

He rotates the cup.

I’ve

The song swells behind us.We’ve come a long way, baby…

My chest tightens.

A customer gasps quietly. Someone whispers, “Oh.”

I stare at the cup, then at Dax. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering coffee,” he says easily. “Thought that was allowed.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Been accused of worse.”