"In a second." Toby doesn't even look at him. He's locked on Robin like a missile. "Knox, I love you, sex later, this is important."
Knox blinks. "I just wanted a kiss."
"Kiss later. Robin. ROBIN."
"I'm right here, Toby. Use your inside voice."
Toby crosses the garage in about four steps, nearly trips over Ezra's legs sticking out from under his bike, and drops onto the couch next to Robin hard enough to bounce the business books off the cushion.
"Margaret."
"Margaret what?"
"Margaret saw the business books I've been checking out for you. She asked what I was researching. I told her about you wanting to start your own place, and she got that look—"
"The plotting look."
"The terrifying plotting look." Toby grabs Robin's good hand. "She asked if you'd be interested in the café space."
The garage goes quiet. Even Ezra slides out from under his bike.
"What café space?" Robin says carefully.
"The one by the front entrance! It used to be a café years ago — it's got the bones, the hookups, even some of the permits are still active from the last tenant. Margaret's been trying to fill it for months. And when I told her about you, she said—'Thatboy makes cookies that could make angels weep. We need him here.'"
"Margaret said that?"
"She said it more sternly. But that was the gist."
Robin hasn't moved. His book is still open on his lap, the page about alternative café models inside existing businesses staring up at him like it planned this.
"Think about it," Toby says, squeezing his hand. "Built-in foot traffic. People who sit for hours reading and need coffee. Parents who come for story hour. Students. The whole neighborhood. You wouldn't need a storefront lease — you'd be inside the library. Your startup costs drop by half."
"What about rent?" Robin asks.
"The space needs work — cleaning, paint, equipment. Because of that, Margaret's offering practically nothing for the first six months. Two hundred a month."
"Two hundred a month," Robin repeats. "For a café space with built-in customers."
"With permits already half in place. With your best friend working twenty feet away." Toby's bouncing on the couch hard enough to rattle the tools on my workbench. "Robin, this is it."
Robin looks down at his book. Then at Toby. Then at me.
His face is doing everything at once — hope, fear, excitement, the particular terror of wanting something so much it could break you.
"It's a real chance," I tell him quietly.
"It's terrifying."
"Good things are."
He's quiet for a long moment. The garage holds its breath. Silas has stopped pretending to work on the carburetor. Knox is leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching Robin with the steady patience of an alpha who knows when something important is happening to his pride.
"Can I see the space?" Robin says.
Toby nearly levitates off the couch. "Margaret gave me the key."
Knox catches Toby around the waist as he rockets past. "Can I get that kiss now?"