After a while, she leaned forward slightly, “How much of what you said in our chats was real?” she asked.
“All of it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Even the bit about classical piano and hiking?”
“I own hiking boots.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I use them.”
She nodded slowly. “Alright. Fair. Me too.”
“All real?”
“Nothing but.”
“Even your hatred of oat milk?”
“It’s not milk. It’s beige water.”
He looked down at his cup. “You hate oat milk, but you like yoghurt from this place?”
“It’s better than anything you’d find in a grocery store.”
“Wow.”
“Tell me you don’t like it.”
He gave a small shrug. “Still undecided.”
They sat for a moment, listening to the wind push against the glass.
Then came a loud metallicclunkfrom the front of the shop. Elizabeth looked up.
“Was that the door?”
“I am not sure.”
Darcy stood, walked over, tugged at it once. Then again. It didn’t budge.
“They must’ve locked it automatically,” he said. “Storm sensors.”
“There is no storm, is there?” Elizabeth stared out of the window.
“The weather forecast didn’t mention any,” Darcy said. “Probably the sensors are malfunctioning. It's just drizzling outside with a little wind.”
Elizabeth stood too. “Are we seriously locked in?”
“Looks like it.”
She looked around. The place wasn’t empty—just quiet in the way shops get when the rush has passed. A couple of patrons lingered at the corner tables, half-distracted by their phones. One of them glanced up at the metallic clunk, frowned faintly, then went back to scrolling. Another—college-aged, headphonesaround his neck—looked toward the front door, saw Darcy tugging at it, and gave a shrug like,well, not my problem.
Behind the counter, a single employee—young, pink-haired, chewing gum like it was a sport—looked up at the sound of the door.
“Uh, that’s not supposed to happen,” she muttered, already fishing out her phone. “I think the wind tripped the auto-lock. I’ll call the maintenance guy. He lives, like, two blocks from here.”
Elizabeth offered a thin smile. “Great.”
