Page 23 of Glass Jawed
“Authentic?” he offers, with a knowing smirk.
“Expensive,” I say, smiling.
He chuckles, his broad shoulders shaking slightly. God, I can’t look away. Somehow, I’m able to connect the guy who sends quirky messages to this... effortlessly confident man who’s currently flirting with just his eyes.
“Don’t worry about the cost. I wanted to wine and dine you properly,” he says, his tone softer now. “Even if you don’t consider this a date, I’m... going to pretend it is one.”
That catches me off guard, and I lean in slightly, elbows resting on the table between us. “Why?”
He blinks. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to date me?” I ask, voice calm but curious. “Honestly, your messages have been pretty flirty. I just... I don’t understand why someone would want to date the person their partner cheated with.”
He stiffens. I hear the small exhale he tries to disguise as a scoff. “That again.”
I nod slowly, eyebrows raised. If it wasn’t for the weight of our shared past, I’d probably be thrilled to date someone like Lucian. He’s handsome.
Empathetic. Attentive, even.
Just yesterday, he walked into my café—alone—and ordered my regular drink. When I asked how he knew, he just shrugged and said he’d seen me make it for myself during one of his visits.
He’d become a regular. Daily. Chatting up my coworkers, charming the pants off them, casually asking questions about shift timings, pretending like he belonged there.
So when I ask why—why put in all this effort to know me, when our origin story is so deeply screwed up—I expect arealanswer.
Apparently, I’m digging up graves he thinks should stay buried, based on the annoyed tick in his jaw.
“Listen,” he starts, resting both forearms on the table. “I barely registered you that night. Yes, you were the woman Tim cheated with, but it’s been a year. I’m tired of rehashing it. Frankly? I don’t see that night when I look at you anymore.”
The urge to call bullshit is almost instinctive. So I do.
“You literally said you wouldn’t hire me because you didn’t want a reminder of thedreaded night.”
He pauses, then nods with a self-aware sigh. “True. I said that. But you should also know I was operating from a very angryplace... during our drinks. Seeing you again after so long? I couldn’t get Tim out of my head.”
“And now?” I ask, tilting my head. “Is Tim out of your head?”
He smiles—shy and a little crooked. “Tim’s been out of my head for a while now, Rohi. And it’s been filled with you for the past week.”
I freeze.
That nickname.
Rohi.
Only a few people in my life use that name. And none of them are in Toronto.
My pulse stutters, my breath catching in my chest for a second too long. I search his face, trying to figure out what this is.
“I’m attracted to you,” he blurts out.
The moment hangs between us. His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Not like that.
“Ah... I mean—fuck it. I am,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re beautiful. Intelligent. You call me out on my bullshit without flinching. And whenever you text me back, I—” he exhales, frustrated, “—I get so damn distracted. I think way too hard about what I want to say. So that I don’t, you know... fuck things up.”
There’s a boyish, hesitant shyness to his confession that takes the sharpness off his words. It’s oddly endearing, seeing him like this—unguarded, awkward even.
And truth be told... I’m attracted to him, too.
