The Price of a Smile

Donovan’s gaze didn’t shift from Derek.

The silence in the coffee shop became total, a heavy, suffocating stillness where even the espresso machine’s hum seemed to drop an octave.

Derek blinked, finally turning around, his dismissive smirk half-formed on his lips.

""Look, friend, stay out of this,"" Derek said, his tone carrying the practiced irritation of a man used to owning any room he entered. ""This is a private conversation.""

Donovan didn't answer right away.

He stepped closer, closing the distance until the sheer physical presence of the man forced Derek to take an involuntary half-step back.

The scar over Donovan’s left eyebrow caught the fluorescent glare, stark and uncompromising.

""You were asking a question,"" Donovan said. His voice was low, devoid of shouting or theatrical menace, yet it carried an absolute gravity that made the skin on Maeve’s arms prickle.

Derek frowned, his confidence flickering like a dying bulb. ""Who the hell are you?""

Donovan didn't look at Derek.

His eyes met Maeve’s, softening with a warmth that belonged to a completely different world than the one they were standing in.

He raised a hand, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek before resting warm and heavy over the curve of her sweater.

""He's asking about mine,"" Donovan said softly, never breaking eye contact with her.