I'm behind the counter, doing the register count, when I hear the door swing open.
I look up, ready to say we're closed, and—
Santino.
Snow is melting off his jacket, turning dark spots on the shoulders. His hair is damp. His hands are in his pockets. And he's looking at me with an expression I can't read, which is nothing new, except this time there's something else underneath it.
Something that might be exhaustion.
"We're closed," I say automatically.
"I know."
"I was about to lock the door."
"I know." He doesn't move. Just stands there with the cold air coming in behind him and snow melting onto the floor. "May I come in?"
I should say no. I should tell him it's late, I need to finish closing, I have homework, I have literally any excuse that would make this easier.
But since I remember Jolie’s gentle and well-meaning words about the truth...
I force myself to nod, and my heart starts pounding against my chest as I watch him step inside. The café suddenly feels smaller. Quieter. Just the two of us and all this space that somehow isn't enough space at all.
I go back to the register. Count bills I've already counted.
Twenty-three ones. Fifteen fives. Eight tens.
He doesn't move from the door.
I can feel him watching me. Can feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. My hands are shaking slightly as I stack the bills, and I hate that he can probably see it, hate that I can't even count money without my body betraying me.
"Thea," he says finally.
I don't look up. "I need to finish closing."
"I know."
"It'll take a while."
"I can wait."
"You don't need to—"
"I have been trying to talk to you for three days."
"I've been working."
"You have been avoiding me."
My hands still on the bills. "I've been working," I say again, but the words sound hollow even to me.
Silence.
"Please. Sit with me."
I do look up now. He's still by the door, hands in his pockets, and his expression is—I don't know. Open? Uncertain? Like he's asking for something he's not sure I'll give.
"I have to finish closing—"
