“I’ve actually got to head back to work.” Kira stripped off her shirt—my shirt—exposing a thin layer of smooth, creamy skin. I was immediately tempted to lean and softly stroke her hip bone. But I was committed to not pushing things physically until Kira was ready and explicitly communicated it. She handed the shirt back to me.
I swallowed hard. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
“I think I can handle the sidewalk,” she teased.
I followed her to the door anyway. Call it a habit. Call it something else. But I stood there until she had safely handled the sidewalk and was far out of view.
13
LANDON
I had finally discovered the best shift to work at The Modern Muse: day shift. No staggering drunks demanding their fifth tequila shot, no groups trying to outshout each other over blasting music. Just locals, lunch-goers, and predictable chaos. The regulars greeted me by name, and the pace gave me just enough time to actually breathe.
These last few days have taken a lot out of me. I thought spending all my time at the diner, working at the bar, volunteering, and helping Kira with her art residency application was a good thing. It kept me busy. Kept my life moving forward. But what I hadn’t realized until Kira pointed it out was how numb and tired I felt.
The wordsday offweren’t in my vocabulary, but maybe this was my body crying for one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had free time to do absolutely nothing. Ever since the move back to Chicago, life had been go, go, go.
People assumed that the most dramatic changes in your life happened suddenly and unpredictably. I’d argue many of them happened slowly, like honey pouring from a pot. And you’dnever know your life had become sticky until you tried to clean it.
I wasn’t complaining, though. I felt privileged to be able to do so many things I enjoyed and to surround myself with people I loved. It was just overwhelming.
I set the glass I had been cleaning down on the rack and rubbed my eyes, fatigue setting in. My eyes flicked to the clock above the liquor shelf. Just a few more minutes.
“You keep glancing at that door like a kid waiting for Santa Claus,” Josh said, sliding a tray of clean glasses onto the shelf.
I smirked, drying my hands on the towel tucked into my waistband. “Someone’s stopping by.”
Josh leaned on the counter with a knowing grin. “Oh, shit. Kira?”
I gave a quick nod.
He raised an eyebrow. “And her boyfriend’s cool with that?”
I hesitated. “They broke up.”
Josh pulled back slightly, his grin fading into something more cautious. “Huh. That’s big.”
“Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing?”
He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward the kitchen like he didn’t want to say it too loud. “I just don’t know if you should assume she ended things with him to jump right back into your arms. Kira’s not exactly the impulsive type.”
I stiffened. The towel twisted in my hands.I’m not waiting around like some lovesick teenager,I wanted to say. But maybe part of me was.
“I’m not assuming anything,” I said instead. “I’m just making sure she knows she has options.”
Josh gave me a pointed look, voice gentler now. “Just be careful, man. Sometimes when you rush in hoping for a second chance, you forget to make sure if the other person wants the same.”
A regular, a retired construction worker who came in daily for a beer and a chat, flagged me down. “I’ll be fine. I know Kira,” I whispered to Josh. “We’ve always understood each other.”
Later, halfway through a conversation about whether a hot dog was a sandwich or a taco, I heard a familiar laugh down the bar. One I’d pick up on from a mile away.
Kira.
My head perked up on its own. Kira was down the bar, dressed casually in leggings and a striped sweater, but she still looked like the most elegant person in here. To her side sat a guy in his mid-thirties with a scraggly beard. He was the one who made her laugh.The fuck?
He leaned an elbow on the bar like he was posing for a cologne ad. My grip on the tap tightened.
“You must be a model or something,” the guy said to Kira, his words dripping with false charm. “I swear, you could be in a magazine.”
