Cassidy's stomach did something complicated at the image.
She'd seen the costume during the dress rehearsal. She'd seen Isaiah standing at the espresso machine with his sleeves rolled up and his dark hair pushed back and a cape draped over his shoulders like he'd been born in a gothic romance novel instead of a Kensington apartment. He'd looked like someone had taken all the attractive qualities of a brooding manga love interest and poured them into a real human body without checking whether that was legal. When he'd glanced up from the milk steamer and caught her staring, the corner of his mouth had twitched in that way that meant he knew exactly what she was thinking and found it funny.
She hated that twitch.
She also wanted to bite it.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was the group chat, which Cassidy had not named and would deny naming under oath despite the fact that "Isaiah's Owners" was clearly her handiwork and everyone knew it.
