My cheeks warmed, and I hated myself for it. I shoved another bite into my mouth just to avoid answering. The pasta was still delicious, creamy with a hint of spice, the kind of meal that lingered on your tongue. I wanted to ask how he’d made it, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I cared.
The clinking of forks against plates filled the silence. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes betrayed me, darting up every few seconds, stealing glances. And every single time, I caught him watching me. Not in a casual way. Not like he was bored. No—his gaze was sharp, intense, almost hungry. Like he was memorizing me.
I shifted in my chair, my legs crossing beneath the table, trying to look unaffected. “So,” I muttered, needing to break t
