I lift my hands gently, not moving closer.“Hey.Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She swallows, throat working.“I...needed air.”
Air.
In a bar.
Right.
I want to ask who texted her.
I want to ask what scared her.
I want to tell her she can talk to me, that I won’t push, that I won’t crowd her the way the others might without meaning to.
But she looks like a single wrong question will shatter her.
So instead, I nod toward her drink.“That any good?”
She looks down at the glass like she forgot she’s holding it.“It’s...strong.”
“How strong?”
Her gaze flicks up, cheeks pink.“Pretty strong.”
She tips back another swallow anyway.
My chest tightens.“Maybe slow down a little?”
She doesn’t argue.Doesn’t tease me.Doesn’t roll her eyes like she might have yesterday.
She just nods.
Quietly.
Obediently.
Not the good kind of obedient — the scared kind.
I can’t sit two seats away anymore.
Slowly, deliberately, I slide off my stool and take the one next to her.Close enough she can feel me, far enough she can move if she needs space.
“You okay?”I ask softly.
Her breath hitches.“Yeah.”
She’s lying.
Badly.
But she’s buzzed — her pupils slightly wider, her shoulders looser than they were earlier — and when she turns toward me, the truth slips out in a whisper.
“No,” she says.“I’m...not.”
The words hit me like a punch.
I shift so my knee brushes hers, barely there, giving her a little pressure point to lean on if she wants it.Her thigh tenses, then relaxes like the contact actually helps.
