Koa leans against the frame, arms crossed, his damp locks pushed back from his face.
The tension in my chest shifts – doesn’t ease, exactly, but…focuses.
He’s wearing that infuriating smirk, but there’s something more serious in his eyes today.
“Not hiding,” I mutter, reaching for the tea towel to look busy. “Just needed a minute.”
He cocks his head. “You look like hell.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Not in a bad way. More like…artfully dishevelled hell.”
I shake my head, but it takes effort.
Koa doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just watches. The kind of watchfulness that makes it hard to breathe, like my body’s suddenly too aware of where he is. How close.
After a long pause, he asks, “You sick or something?”
I freeze.
It’s not accusatory. Not probing. Just matter-of-fact. But my whole body reacts like it is – chest tightening, blood pounding in my ears.
“Just tired.”
He raises a brow. “You look like you’ve beenjust tiredfor a while.”
“I’m busy.”
“You missed three shifts. Didn’t answer your phone. And you looked like you were about to pass out the other day. Now you’re white as salt and shaking like a leaf.”
I swallow hard.
He steps closer. Not threatening. Not flirtatious. Just present.
My grip tightens on the counter.
The dizziness shifts, tilts into something else entirely.
“Did something happen?”
My pulse stutters, stupid and sudden.
“No.” The lie tastes bitter. “I’m fine,” I add, sharper now.
He doesn’t flinch. Just nods slowly. “Okay.”
He walks over to the kettle, switches it off, then pulls two mugs from the shelf like he owns the place.
“I’m not trying to be a dick, Lani,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’m just…I dunno. You’re different. It’s been noticed.”
I let out a breath that’s half scoff, half sigh.
He slides a mug toward me. Chamomile. Somehow he knew.
I wrap my hands around it and stare at the surface, willing myself not to shake too noticeably in front of him.
The shaking does ease. Not gone, just quieter. It’s a relief.