•⋅⊰∙∘☽✼☾∘∙⊱⋅•
The sun was dipping low behind the diner windows, casting that warm, syrupy glow that always seems to make time slow down. Ethan and I had been in the same booth for nearly two hours, half focused on work and half caught up in random chats and silly jokes. My milkshake was melting into a puddle, his laptop screen softly lit between us, and every now and then, his arm would brush against mine. It was a small thing, but it sent my nerves into a frenzy.
He was sitting way too close. I could actually catch a whiff of his cologne—something warm, like cedar and sunshine. I was trying to concentrate on the short story we were supposed to be editing, but it was tough with him leaning in to point out lines or laugh at my suggestions.
I kept reminding myself not to read too much into it. Ethan was just being friendly. That was all he ever was.
I was in the middle of texting my mom to let her know I'd be home late when he blurted out, "You're really pretty, you know that?"
