Not what I wanted to hear.
[Hex]:I could come get you.
[Legs]:I can walk two streets, Hex. I’m happy to come to you.
I grin, fingers poised over my phone before deciding to type my message.
[Hex]:Fine, fine. I’d be a lot happier if you’d comeforme.
The conversation bubble pops up. Disappears. Pops up again.
[Legs]:You’re shameless.
[Hex]:And yet, here you are, agreeing to lunch.
I can practically hear her sigh through the phone.
[Legs]:I’ll see you Friday.
I pocket my phone, smiling to myself.
Yeah, Friday can’t come soon enough.
It’s Friday.
The walk to the bar feels longer than it should. My body knows the way, but my mind is somewhere else, hovering between anticipation and anxiety. I can’t tell if the pressure in my chest is excitement or something heavier like the beginning of change.
Because it’s not just Hex I’m walking toward. It’s whatever thisthingis between us. Still unfolding, too fast to overanalyze but too real to ignore.
The morning passed in a blur at the shop, my hands deep in the layers of an old bookcase with glass doors and carved moldings that deserved more than a rushed job. Paint stuck to my forearms, a few faded streaks still visible no matter how much I scrubbed.
I didn’t dress for a date. I dressed for work. Paint-splattered pants. A basic tank under a zip-up hoodie.
Maybe that’s the version of me I trust the most—the one covered in dust, focused on something real, with nothing to prove and no interest in standing out.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
That faint prickle at the back of my neck.
The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
I glance over my shoulder. Nothing. The street is quiet at this hour, only the occasional car passing by or the soft hum of conversation drifting from an open shop door.
Maybe it’s paranoia.
Maybe it’s nothing.
Still, I pick up my pace.
By the time I reach the bar, my fingers hesitate on the door handle. Should I have gone around back? Before I can decide, the lock clicks, and the door swings open.
Hex stands there, filling the doorway like he’d been waiting for me.
“Hey, Legs.” His voice holds that familiar warmth, laced with teasing, but his eyes cut through the moment, darting past me. He’s looking for something. Someone.
Something about that soothes me more than I expect.
He steps back, guiding me inside.
