Page 26 of Jesse
“You brought me to a market,” he said, voice flat.
“I brought you to the market,” I corrected. “These guys supply half the restaurants in the area.”
I hadn’t seen him smile much before, but right then, I saw something close. His lips quirked up, just barely.
We walked through the maze of stalls, the air rich with the scent of herbs, soil, and sun-warmed fruit. Beck’s eyes lit up with every turn.
He picked through bunches of basil like he was handling fine silk.
Beck murmured something delighted under his breath at a basket of rainbow carrots, and spent ten whole minutes quizzing a tomato vendor on soil acidity.
I’d never met anyone so enthusiastic about vegetables. And, to be honest, I loved it.
His face was more expressive than I’d ever seen it. His eyes crinkled when he found a perfect cucumber, lips parted slightly in awe over a honey sample.
I found myself watching him more than the produce. There was something about seeing him relaxed, in his element, that tugged at my chest.
Eventually, arms full of fresh ingredients, I offered, “Wanna grab a coffee before we head back?”
Beck blinked. “With you?”
“Unless there’s another six-foot-four shifter following you around asking nicely.”
He rolled his eyes but nodded. “Fine. But you’re paying.”
We settled at a tiny café across from the market, bags of produce tucked at our feet.
Beck ordered something dark and bitter, I got a cinnamon latte, and we took the seats by the window.
Sunlight slanted in, casting gold across his cheekbones, and for a second, I couldn’t look away. He pulled out the basil bunch and gave it a once-over, humming to himself.
I chuckled. “You know you already bought it, right?”
“Quality control,” he muttered.
I let the silence linger for a moment, then said, “Hey. I’m sorry again. For being late. For... everything. I’ll follow your lead in the kitchen, Beck. You’re the expert.”
Beck’s hand brushed against mine as he reached for the basil. Neither of us moved. The touch was barely there, but it felt like a spark just under my skin.
Beck glanced at me, a little pink in the cheeks.
“I’m sorry too,” he said softly. “For snapping earlier.”
We sat there like that, knees brushing beneath the table, the air thick with something unspoken. His fingers lingered near mine, close enough I could feel his warmth.
I leaned in, just slightly. His eyes flicked to my mouth, and for half a second, I swore we were both leaning. His breath hitched, so soft I almost missed it.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
But I stopped right there, barely an inch away. Too soon. Not yet. The moment stretched, taut and trembling, like a held breath between lightning and thunder.
His cheeks flushed deeper, a soft pink blooming across the tops of his cheekbones. But he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Didn’t say a word.
The world around us faded into a blur. The gentle hum of conversation in the café, the clink of cutlery, the barista steaming milk behind the counter. None of it mattered.
It was just us. Just the warmth of his hand still resting near mine, just the scent of fresh basil clinging to the air between us.
