Birdy tilted her head. “I do.”
Silence stretched between them like a frayed wire. She looked past him, toward the street, willing the check to appear—or lightning to strike. Either would be fine.
Instead, she saw Paul.
He stood just outside the window, half-shadowed under the glow of a hanging café lamp, snow clinging to his jacket collar, his hair mussed from the wind. His eyes were on her. And for a second—just a second—everything slowed. The sounds of clinking cups, low conversation, even Daniel droning on about his CrossFit schedule faded.
Paul Winters was a big guy. Broad through the shoulders, tall enough to cast a long shadow, solid enough to make a woman feel like nothing could touch her if she stood behind him. He had the kind of chest that looked like it had absorbed a fair share of sobs and secrets. Biceps that hinted at protection but also gave the impression they’d make an excellent pillow if a woman just needed to rest her head and breathe for a while.
There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, just like the ones at the edges of his mouth. Proof that when he smiled, it was with his whole face. That was rare. That was dangerous.
Her gaze drifted to his hands, where his long fingers were curled loosely into his palms. Those fingers had typed the most beautiful, funny, maddeningly soothing words to her in that anonymous chat box. Words that had calmed her chaos and made her feel seen.
And now here he was. Real. Tangible. Looking at her like maybe he already knew who she was.
She held Paul’s gaze. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes… they weren’t cold. Not this time. They were quiet. Soft.
Then he blinked. Turned. And walked away.
Birdy’s heart lurched—so fast and unexpected she wasn't sure she hadn't had a heart attack. She had to blink herself back into the moment.
“Anyway,” Daniel was saying, clearly unaware that she hadn’t heard a word, “I just think a woman with your résumé must be really intense in a relationship.”
Birdy turned back to him, her voice steady but laced with cool steel. “Only for men who can’t handle it.”
He laughed again, nervously this time. “Guess I walked into that one.”
Birdy was stirring the foam of her latte with a bamboo stick, wondering how to extricate herself from this disaster of a date. She was in a dress of Kitty's that was too tight. She was wearing makeup that was irritating her eyes. She was thinking that she just wanted to go home and read her book when she heard his voice.
“You look stunning.” Paul Winters stood at the edge of her table, snow still dusting his shoulders, his coat slightly unzipped like he’d left wherever he was in a rush.
She set down her mug with surgical precision and tilted her head. “Surprised I clean up well?”
He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he glanced toward her open tote bag on the bench beside her. “You’re readingThe Justice Paradox?”
Birdy blinked. “I am.”
“I finished it last week. I had… issues with it.”
“Because it had a heroine who didn’t cry on command?”
“No. Because it pretended to ask tough questions and then ran from the hard answers. That monologue in Chapter Twelve was a cop-out.”
“That monologue is the emotional crux of the entire case. It’s about the cost of telling the truth.”
Paul leaned in, resting one hand on the edge of her table. “It’s about fear disguised as principle.”
Birdy opened her mouth—ready to volley another counterpoint—when a polite throat-clearing cut between them like a gavel.
Her date. Still seated. Still holding his now-empty coffee cup.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” Daniel said, not unkindly. “It’s clear there’s something… going on here.”
Birdy opened her mouth to protest—but he was already walking away. She'd wanted to get away from him. Now that had taken place because Paul Winters had entered the chat.
She turned back to Paul. He was watching her with a look she couldn’t quite name. Something that made her want to sit back down, pick up her book, and pretend none of this was happening. That they were still two strangers on a screen, on opposite sides of the world, flirting over policy forms and typos.
But this was real. Her heart was beating far too fast for her to pretend otherwise.
