I don't sleep.
Or the way Adrian kissed my forehead and said "I know" when I told him it wasn't in the contract.
I'm definitely not thinking about any of that.
"Zara?"
I look up.
Adrian stands at my table, wearing jeans and a navy sweater, hair slightly damp like he just showered, looking unfairly attractive for six thirty in the morning.
"What are you doing here?" I blurt out.
"Coffee." He holds up an empty cup as evidence. "Mind if I sit?"
"I... sure?"
He slides into the booth across from me, and the barista, Marco, nearly drops the espresso he's making.
Because Adrian Knight just walked into a Brooklyn coffee shop at dawn and sat down at my table like it's normal.
"You're staring," Adrian says quietly.
"You're in my coffee shop." Right. The contract. The performance. The car
