Madison moved around the counter, her steps quiet but heavy with intention. She didn't stop at a polite distance; she stepped into his personal space, closing the gap until the heat of her body was a palpable force against him.
She stood there, poised and unmoving, in that suspended state of a woman caught between several conflicting truths, waiting for the internal storm to settle into a single, decisive direction.
"You're doing that thing," she said, her voice a low, intimate velvet that cut through the morning quiet. "That thing where you say nothing, and you just let me stand here, drowning in my own decisions."
Mike didn't flinch. He didn't move to close the remaining inch between them, but his gaze was a physical weight on her.
"You make better decisions when you aren't being prompted," he countered, his voice a dark, steady rumble.
"That's not a compliment, Mike," she said, though her eyes betrayed her, searching his for a crack in the armor.
