But to get to the children's section, I have to pass Silas's table.
I keep my eyes firmly forward, walking at a normal pace like a normal person who didn't just leave a weird note in someone's food. As I pass, I catch a glimpse of receipt paper sticking out of his book.
He kept it. He's using my stupid note with its stupid smiley face as a bookmark.
I nearly trip over my own feet.
The children's section is chaos. Kids everywhere, parents looking exhausted, and Miss Glitterbomb in full regalia: purple wig, sequined dress that could probably be seen from space, and heels that violate several laws of physics.
"Devin, darling!" She swoops over to grab her coffee. "You absolute lifesaver. How's the café treating you?"
"Good," I manage. "Really good."
"Robin says you're a natural. High praise from him. He's got standards higher than my wigs." She takes a sip and sighs dramatically. "Perfect. You even got the glitter distribution right."
Toby waves from where he's managing crowd control, wearing a cardigan with tiny coffee cups all over it. These people and their themed clothing.
I escape back to the café, taking the long way around to avoid Silas's table. The afternoon settles into a rhythm. Customers come and go, I make drinks, Robin experiments with some new recipe involving lavender and honey. Normal. Safe. The kind of afternoon where I can almost forget the clock ticking down, the sixty days, the math I do every night before I sleep. Rent prices, deposit requirements, the gap between what I have and what I need.
At three o'clock, Silas stands up.
I very carefully don't watch him walk to the counter. Very carefully keep organizing the syrups that are already organized.
"Thanks for the coffee," he says, setting his empty mug on the counter.
"No problem." I take the mug, proud that my hands stay steady. "How was it?"
"Good. Really good." He pauses, and I can feel him looking at me. "The scones too."
Is he being weird about the note? Should I apologize for the note?
"That's... good," I manage.
He nods, turns to go, then stops. "You work every day?"
"Thursday through Monday. Noon to six."
"Good to know."
He leaves, and I definitely don't watch him go. Definitely don't notice how he walks with that quiet confidence, or how he holds doors open for people, or how he carefully tucks his book under his arm to protect it from the drizzle that's started outside.
"So," Robin says, appearing beside me like some kind of matchmaking ninja. "That went well."
"Nothing went. Nothing happened."
"He asked when you work."
"He was being polite."
"Dev." Robin leans against the counter, studying me. "How long have you been watching him in the library?"
My face burns. "I haven't been watching —"
"You literally know his reading schedule."
"I just... notice things."
"Uh-huh. And what things have you noticed about tall, dark, and brooding over there?"