He cuts a glance to the others at the table, then leans forward. Holding my breath, I meet him halfway, resting on my forearms. His gaze drops to my mouth, so quick, I would have missed it had I blinked, before returning eye-level. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asks in that low, smoky timber of his. I chew on the corner of my lip and tip my head to the side. “Just remembering this boy I met once,” I say quietly just for his ears. “He hated my favorite book and told me it made him sob like a baby.”
