I don't reply to either of them.
Robin watches me stare at my phone. "For what it's worth," he says quietly, "that man has been at this café every single day this week. He brings you vending machine coffee every morning. He kept your first note as a bookmark and hasn't replaced it. That's not a man who thinks you're a child. That's a man who's scared."
"Of what?"
"Of wanting something he thinks he shouldn't."
I put my phone away. Finish my shift. Clean everything twice. Robin packs my pastry bag without comment, extra full tonight, like he knows I need it.
At six, I walk home in the rain. Eight blocks. No bus. The math doesn't change.
At nine, Tyler drags me to Murphy's in the blue shirt.
At ten, I'm sitting at a bar surrounded by drinks I didn't order, watching Tyler dance with Melissa, wondering why I let myself think a week of book notes meant anything permanent.
At ten-fifteen, a guy puts his hand on my back and leans too close and asks if I want another drink, and I freeze, because this is what normal looks like and I hate every second of it.
At ten-thirty, I text Silas:
I hate bars.
He reads it immediately. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Where are you?
Murphy's. Tyler's birthday plan. I'm miserable.
Stay there.
Twenty minutes later, the door opens, and he's there.
Chapter 8
Silas
I've read the same paragraph six times.
The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
Seven times.
My phone buzzes. Pride group chat.
Robin:Did everyone know today is Dev's 21st birthday?
Jason:Dev?
Robin:My barista. The one Silas is NOT crushing on
Vaughn:The kid who gave him the dragon book rec?
Robin:That's the one. Just turned 21. TODAY.
Knox:21 is young
Robin:21 is legal
Jason:When Ash was 21 he was in Afghanistan