Jason had been coming to Maggie’s café for almost six months, but today was different.
It was late afternoon, the rain tapping on the big windows, making the street outside look blurred and intimate. Inside, the place was half-empty, and Maggie leaned against the counter, wiping a glass with slow, deliberate circles.
She was in her early forties, the kind of woman who’d grown more confident with age. Divorced, two grown kids out of the house, and a body that seemed to know exactly how it moved. She always wore her hair tucked behind one ear, like she wanted people to notice — but not too much.
Jason had noticed everything. The way her jeans hugged her hips. The way her voice dropped whenever she leaned in. The way her laugh came a second too late, as if it had to ask permission first.
But today, it wasn’t any of those things that gave her away.
It was her ear.
He ordered his usual black coffee and sat by the corner booth. Maggie came over, setting the cup down slowly, and when her fingers brushed his, he felt her pause.
A tiny thing, half a second — but her ear flushed pink instantly.
She pulled her hand back too quickly, biting the inside of her lip. Jason watched the way she pretended to fuss with her apron, pretending nothing happened. But her body… her body had already betrayed her.
“Long day?” he asked, leaning back casually.
“You have no idea,” she said, trying to sound breezy. But she wouldn’t look at him.
He let the silence stretch. The rain outside softened everything, turned the air heavy. He could hear the sound of the espresso machine, a low hum in the background, like something vibrating under the skin.
Then he leaned forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
“Maggie,” he said, low, almost a whisper.
She finally met his eyes. And there it was — that flicker. That little tremor of restraint breaking apart.
“You keep tucking your hair behind your ear,” he said. “You know that?”
She froze. Her hand halfway up. And then she laughed, soft, nervous.
“Do I?”
“You do,” he said, leaning closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And every time you do it… you give yourself away.”
She swallowed hard, the movement slow, like her throat had forgotten how. Then she stepped closer, just enough that the counter pressed into her hip.
“You shouldn’t… say things like that,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“Because—” she started, then stopped. Her ear had gone crimson again.
Jason reached up, slow, deliberate, letting his knuckles barely graze the edge of her jaw as his fingertips stopped just short of that ear. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“You don’t hide it well,” he said softly. “Not here. Not when you’re this close.”
Her breath hitched. She closed her eyes for just a moment, like she was deciding whether to stop or lean in.
That was when the door opened, the bell above it jingling.
Maggie stepped back fast, almost knocking the glass on the counter. A couple walked in, laughing loudly, shaking off rainwater. She forced a smile, wiping her hands on her apron, pretending nothing happened.
Jason watched her retreat, but the damage was already done. Her body had spoken louder than her words.
An hour later, when the café finally closed, Jason waited outside under the awning.
Maggie hesitated by the door, keys in hand, glancing at him like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
He broke the silence. “Your ear’s still red.”
She froze, then laughed — low, breathy, like a secret she didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Jason,” she said softly, shaking her head. “You notice too much.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the rain soaked the tips of his hair, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you hide too little.”
And this time, she didn’t step back.