Chew, swallow, repeat. But when a dark shadow shifts over my toast, I realize it’s impossible to be mechanical when Raphael is standing so close. My fork stills mid-air and I swallow, then force my eyes to climb the sharp front crease of his trousers and meet his blistering stare. It doesn’t waiver, even when he rests his palms on the table and dips to steal the egg off my fork.
GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEEEEEEET
