Page 8 of Hide From Me

I roll my eyes. Moe is a walking mystery. I don’t know who he is, what he wants, or what he’s even doing here—but I keep looking for him. Every day, I glance at that damn corner booth or scan the windows for his sleek black Mercedes.

I grab the plate harder than necessary and snatch the syrup to punctuate my annoyance.

“You owe me,” I growl.

Jack laughs. He’s around the same age as Moe, or at least they both look to be in their early twenties. He’s attractive, but he doesn’t have the same stormy eyes or hair that looks like it was kissed by fire. Not that I’d be interested anyway; Jack has been my best friend since high school.

I walk to the table, my jaw tight and my steps sharp. I hate not knowing, not understanding. If I can predict what’s next, I can control it—but Moe keeps everything buried beneath that blinding smile of his, so you can’t see what lies beneath.

“Here’s your bloody—” My words die in my throat. Condensation pools beneath his cup, untouched by the napkin I placed.It’llruinthewood.I open my mouth again. “I swear, if you don’t—”

“I know, I know.” Moe cuts me off, adjusting the glass without looking up from his laptop. My brows lift. That’s new. He’s never brushed me off like that before. I tug at the collar of my shirt and set his plate toward the table's edge so it won’t get in his way.

“Thank you,” I mutter, but he doesn’t look my way, even though my gratitude is genuine. Irritation flares up again. This is the same man I could have had arrested for breaking in, the same man who danced on the bar like it wasCoyoteUgly. He’s the same guy who makes me laugh when I swore I wouldn’t again. And yet, here he is, sitting as if he hasn't spent the past year chipping away at the one thing no one’s touched since my ex—my attention.

“Mmhm,” he hums.

“Tough day at work?” I ask, searching for a crack in his mask.

“You could say that.” He finally looks in my direction, and there it is—those little crow's feet that appear when his smile widens.Oh no, that means… hereit comes.

“I think this is the most you’ve said to me without sounding like you hate me, sunshine,” Moe says with a soft purr that sends a million chaotic butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

Goddamn him. That warmth he radiates—it’s dangerous. I need to find the flaw, the fault, the monster lurking beneath. I want something to validate the warning bells in my gut. I blame my ex for that; he trained me to search for the cracks. But he was just as bad. His smile was bright, yet there was a darkness behind his words. His eyes held so much happiness, while his hands conveyed so much hate.

I shake the thought away and scowl. I won’t fall like that again.

Ever.

“Just eat your damn pancakes,” I grumble.

“They’d be better if you’d join me.”

“I don’t do dates.” The words snap out like a reflex. I turn before I can second-guess them.

“What do you do?” he calls after me.

My cheeks flush as an older couple by the door pauses to look our way. Great.

Why did I care if he seemed lost earlier? Now, I wish he would bury his nose back in his laptop and leave me alone. Attention is never a good thing; people can pick you apart and uncover every single insecurity with just a glance.

I tug at the hem of my shirt and glance back over my shoulder. “Casual,” I reply.

I should’ve said nothing. But it’s been a while. And there’s something between us—more than banter. He’s cute. Mysterious. Just enough to keep me interested without letting him in.

He holds my gaze, and his gray eyes darken, turning to slate. My breath hitches. I want to look away, back down, and hide from the way his stare seems to devour me, but it’s so consuming that I can't.

“Raylen!” Jack’s shout breaks the moment. I let my gaze linger a second longer before ducking into the kitchen.

Every fiber of my being buzzes with a rush of adrenaline. There’s something addictive about defying social norms, taking control instead of surrendering to a man, and initiating rather than waiting around like a princess in a tower for herprince. I could get used to this feeling instead of conforming to what"is expected of me," as my ex would say.

“What was that about?” Jack nearly tackles me as he stumbles through the kitchen with flour-covered hands, so I raise my own to slow his momentum.

“Don’t worry about it,” I brush past, trying to keep my cool even though a smug little grin tugs at my lips. Through the kitchen window, I catch Moe. Elbow propped on the table, thumb dragging over his lip, eyes on the screen—but now, he’s smirking.

“Don’t lie!” Jack jumps in front of me. “I’ve been watching you two flirt like an old married couple formonths.Come on—give me something! This is better than reality TV.”

“Mind your own business, " I mutter, grabbing a fresh rag from the sink tucked in the corner, which is littered with unwashed dishes. My shift’s almost over, and I just want to clock out.

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