Just enough to interrupt.
To remind.
To expose.
When I handed him the cup, our fingers brushed.
He didn’t notice.
That used to mean something.
“A little surprise,” I said.
He smirked slightly, distracted, already thinking about wherever he was going.
“Hope it’s good.”
He drank.
One sip.
Then another.
And another.
No pause. No suspicion.
He finished it in one go.
And that—unexpectedly—hurt more than anything else.
Because once upon a time, he would have looked at me while drinking it.
Not through me.
“So,” I said casually, leaning against the doorway, “big plans today?”
He grabbed his keys, checking his watch like he was already late for something important.
“Meeting,” he said. “Big one.”
“Mm.”
“Strategy. Projections. You know… synergy.”
He said it like a performance.
Like the word itself made him impressive.
I almost laughed.
“Synergy with lace?” I murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, smiling again.
And then he was gone.
The house went quiet.
Too quiet.
I stood there for a moment, listening to nothing but the faint hum of the refrigerator and my own breathing.
Then I looked at the clock.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
I sat down, folding my hands in front of me.
Waiting.
Ten minutes.
And then—
Right on time.
“DAMN IT!”
The shout came from outside, sharp and panicked.
I closed my eyes briefly, then stood.
When I stepped onto the porch, I arranged my face into something soft. Concerned. Gentle.
Almost kind.
He was bent over by the car, gripping the door handle like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“What did you give me?!” he shouted.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
“Love… are you okay?”
“I’m not going to make it to the bathroom!”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Maybe you’re nervous.”
“Nervous?!” he snapped, his face draining of color.
“You know… first dates can do that.”
“I WON’T MAKE IT!”
He rushed past me, nearly tripping on the steps.
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