"It's romantic." He tears it open, reads, grins. "She wants to go to the movies Saturday. See? I told you she liked me."
Back in our room, I pull out the pastries from yesterday while Tyler rereads his letter. There are six. Robin always packs extra. I take two, leave him four.
"Damn, your boss really hooks you up."
"He's just nice."
"Nobody's that nice without wanting something."
"Robin is." I think about how he hired me when my hands were shaking so bad I could barely fill out the application. How he pretends the leftover pastries are trash when they'd sell for five dollars each. "Some people are just good."
"Must be nice, working around normal people." Tyler checks his phone. "Shit, I'm gonna be late. You heading to the library?"
"Yeah."
"Course you are. Hey, maybe today you should try talking to actual humans instead of just books."
"I talk to humans. I work customer service."
"That doesn't count and you know it." He grabs his backpack. Ten-hour warehouse shifts that pay just enough to save something but never enough to get ahead fast. "See you tonight. Try not to become one with the furniture."
After he leaves, I check my own mail cubby downstairs. Nothing but a reminder that I age out of the shelter in sixty days. As if I could forget. Thirty-nine days until I have enough saved for the apartment. That leaves me twenty-one days of buffer. I can make this work.
The morning air is crisp, last night's rain leaving everything clean and sharp. I walk fast, already planning my reading schedule for the morning. Five hours before my shift. I can finish The Goblin Emperor and maybe start something new.
The library's warm and quiet when I arrive. Margaret's at the front desk, and she waves me through without question. She's never asked why I'm here every morning, never questioned why a twenty-year-old spends sixty hours a week in a library.
My usual spot in the reference section is empty. I settle in, pull out my book, and lose myself in the story of a half-goblin prince trying to navigate a court that hates him. There's something comforting about reading about someone else who doesn't quite fit in, who's trying to find his place in a world that doesn't want him.
At 11:45, I pack up and head to the café. Robin's already there, testing some new creation that smells like cinnamon and brown butter.
"Dev! Perfect timing. Try this." He shoves a fork at me with something that looks like a cinnamon roll had a baby with a croissant.
"What is it?"
"I don't know yet. That's why you're trying it."
I take a bite. It's incredible. Flaky, sweet, with a hint of cardamom.
"Good?"
"Really good."
"Excellent. I'm calling them morning buns. We're adding them to the menu." He studies me. "You okay? You look pale."
"I'm always pale."
"Paler than usual, then."
"Just tired."
Robin doesn't look convinced, but the noon rush starts before he can interrogate me further. The familiar rhythm of coffee orders helps calm my nerves. Steam milk, pull shots, smile at customers. Normal. Safe.
At almost one, Silas walks in.
He's wearing a dark green henley that brings out his eyes, and he's carrying a different book.Dragonflightby Anne McCaffrey.
He took my recommendation.