(Rebecca's POV)
I don't plan the next part. It just happens, my hand already moving toward the pocket where I've had the room key card sitting since the lobby, the one I never got the chance to use, the one that was supposed to be my quiet arrival at his door instead of this — this, whatever this has become.
I set it down on the white tablecloth between them, deliberate, final, a small plastic square doing a job no words could do half as clearly.
Then I turn, and I walk out.
The air outside is warm and heavy, the kind of thick midmorning heat that sits on your skin instead of moving past it, and I sit down hard on the low concrete ledge by the hotel entrance because my legs have decided, somewhere between the restaurant and the door, that they're no longer interested in holding me up o
