Ana's POV
Morris and I picked a casual outdoor snack bar where the crowd buzzed with energy and savory aromas filled the air. Despite the chaos around us, I felt a rare moment of calm wash over me.
I glanced at the grilled fish the server had just placed before us, then looked up at Morris. "You know, when we were abroad, you cooked fish for me once. You're really into seafood, aren't you?"
Morris's eyebrows shot up, clearly caught off guard. Since we'd reconnected, I'd kept my distance, so bringing up our past seemed to surprise him.
He slid a perfectly flaked piece onto my plate. "Yeah, I am." But his gaze wasn't on the food—it was fixed on me.
"I'll cook for you again sometime," he said, looking almost too polished for this hole-in-the-wall joint.
I smiled and nodded, lifting my chopsticks toward the fish when a sharp voice cut through the air. "Ana?"
I turned to see a familiar face approaching with some guy I didn't recognize.
