The café was quiet too quiet for Owen's liking. He had expected something more public, more chaotic, a place where he could lean back and perform. But instead, Abigail had chosen a private lounge tucked away in a quiet street. Private booths, soft lighting, and just enough silence to make anyone uncomfortable.
He arrived ten minutes late intentionally, of course.
When he spotted her, she was already seated, arms folded, back straight. She looked calm, but her eyes were sharp. Too sharp. Owen smirked.
"Still like picking boring places, huh?" he said, sliding into the seat opposite her without waiting for an invitation.
Abigail didn't respond to the bait. Her fingers lightly tapped the rim of the glass of water in front of her. "You got here faster than I expected."
"You expected me to stand you up?" Owen asked with a mocking grin. "Please. You asked. I came. That's how this works."
Abigail stared at him a moment longer, then leaned in slightly.
