Zane was steadily making the bills at the counter while being stared down at by a certain black-haired waitress, a quizzical expression reflecting in her emerald eyes.
"What have I done to deserve this unnerving stare?" he asked, finally irritated. But his irritation was lost once his gaze was on her. Her eyes were at rest, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft and inviting—not that he would say so.
"I'm just thinking," Winter replied absentmindedly.
"What?"