Coffee.

Zoe’s POV

“What? You remember that?” I asked, my voice hitching.

Arman looked away coolly. “Look, a coffee shop. Let’s have that coffee and then talk.” He opened the car door and climbed out on his own.

He walked as gracefully as one could while struggling with a crutch. I wasn't surprised he didn’t need a wheelchair; only one leg had been injured, and he had healed remarkably well. The nurses had taken excellent care of him while he was in the coma.

I scanned the area to make sure no one recognized us. Arman had yet to grasp the fact that he was a superstar, but luckily, it was midday and the place was nearly empty. I chose a spot in a far corner where we wouldn't be easily spotted.

“I thought you didn’t remember the accident,” I attacked immediately, needing to regain some control.

“I don’t,” Arman said calmly. He was doing it again—getting on my nerves with that "put-together" aura, making me feel scatterbrained while he treated everything like a quiet face-off.

“But you remember the fight we had before the accident?” I pressed.

Arman shook his head, then waved to the barista. “I’d like an iced cappuccino,” he ordered.

“You always drink a macchiato,” I frowned, remembering the brief MJ had given me.

He shrugged. “Bridget said I did, but I tasted it and it sucked. Cappuccino, however, is a very nice blend. It works well either hot or iced.” He turned back to the barista. “Mocha for the lady, please.” Then he looked at me. “I swear you’ll like it. I tasted it yesterday and thought of you.”

My throat tightened, so I said nothing. Words simply wouldn't form. I waited until our drinks arrived and then took a cautious sip.

Arman was right. The mocha was incredibly good.

“I don’t remember the fight either,” Arman said at last. “But I remember how you kept apologizing while I was in the coma. I heard you. You begged me not to die.” He paused. I was too relieved—and too guilty—to say anything. “I thought about it. Maybe you’ve always wanted to break up with me, but you felt bad because you thought I was going to die.”

I realized then that this wasn't easy on him either; he was unable to meet my eyes.

I shook my head, weaving the truth into the lies. “I’ve never been good at this relationship thing. It was you who kept us afloat. It was you who kept our chemistry alive.”

“I thought about that too, but then I tried to think of why we fought. What would make you say mean words to me?”

I found myself banging the table as a rush of temper flooded me. “Oh, you said your share of mean words! You called me an 'Ice Queen'! You said—” I trailed off, shaking my head and reeling in my temper.

I opened my eyes to find Arman smiling. “Do I do this a lot?” he asked. “Make you mad?”

I found myself smiling back despite myself. “Yes, you do. You make me very mad.”

He nodded. “I find that very easy to believe, because you’re most beautiful when there’s fire in your eyes.” He moved closer and murmured, “I want you to remember that every time I make you angry.”

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “You’re not usually this sweet to me,” I confessed, hiding my face behind my drink.

Arman shrugged. “I must have been a foolish man.”

My heart skipped another beat.

Arman intertwined our fingers. He turned my hand over and traced my nails with his thumb. “They’re very pretty. Have you ever been to my place?”

How could he change the topic so rapidly! I opened my mouth and closed it again, my blush deepening.

Arman burst into laughter. “I didn’t ask if we’ve had sex, Zoe—although I’d like to know that, too.”

That confirmed it. Arman’s charm was inbuilt. It was a factory setting. Because... *wow*.

I cleared my throat, trying to clear the haze in my head. “We’ve only just started dating, Arman. You wanted to hide things from Bridget for the time being, so I had no chance to come to your apartment, considering she was always there.”

MJ had given me this advice: whenever Arman asked something I couldn't answer, tell him it was *his* idea and that he hadn't explained his reasons yet. It would keep him occupied and keep me safe.

Arman shrugged. “I don’t know why I let her stay in my space for so long. One would think we were cohabiting. I sent her things off this morning.”

I gasped. “You didn't really do that.”

Arman nodded, giving me that serious look again. “I did. She wasn't happy about it, but I didn't give her a choice.”

“Arman, you loved Bridget. You were both like family,” I tried to explain.

Arman bristled and muttered under his breath, “Well, family sucks.”

“What?” I’d heard him the first time, but I wanted to be sure.

He didn't repeat himself. Instead, he asked, “Tell me, how do you like that mocha?”

I had finished the drink; there was only ice left in my cup. “I love it.” It had been refreshing.

“Want a taste of this?” he asked, extending his tall glass to me.

I paused. This was a real relationship for him. While I had signed papers and forms to be here, Arman was here on... feelings. I knew they were temporary, but I had no idea how real they were to him right now.

“You’re doing it again.” Arman tightened his grip on my hand and pulled me closer. “Don’t zone out on me.”

“What happens if I do?” I challenged.

“I’ll kiss you.”