Undercover Hearts
Marcus slides into the seat across from me, looking out of place in the sterile cafeteria light.
Dark sweater, whiskey-brown eyes, his presence cutting through the buzz like gravity. He sets a muffin down in front of me. Blueberry, slightly squashed. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m drinking coffee.”
“Coffee doesn’t count. That’s like saying tequila counts as dinner.”
“Sometimes it does.”
His mouth quirks, but the shadows under his eyes don’t lift. “You’re not okay.”
“No one’s okay right now,” I mutter, but I take a bite of the muffin anyway. Sweet, dense, tart blueberries bursting against my tongue. My throat tightens because he knew I needed food, even when I didn’t realize it myself.
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