Tasha looked at the table for another moment.
Then she said it.
"For some reason I don't feel like kissing you right now," she said. Her voice was flat and observational, like she was reading something from a list. "Or having a complete steaming sex on this table with you. Which is strange because that has been a consistent thing for me. Without fail."
The cafe continued doing what it was doing around them.
The man two tables over who had been passing with his coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other slowed his step almost imperceptibly, his eyes moving sideways toward their table, and then he kept walking with the specific forward-facing expression of a person who had heard something and was pretending they had not.
Tasha watched him go with those flat eyes.
Then she turned and looked at Liam.
Her eyes were dry but cold in a way that was worse than wet. The specific cold of something that had been warm and was not anymore and the person wearing it knew the difference.
