“That doesn’t mean you should spend?—”
“Sorry,” the barista interrupts, looking sheepish. “The card machine just went down. We’re cash only for the rest of the night.”
My stomach drops. I know exactly how much cash is in my wallet, and museum pastries weren't part of the plan. I reach for my bag, but Kai is already pulling a bill from his pocket. He slides it across the counter without checking what it is.
It's a hundred.
The barista reaches for the register, and Kai picks up the tray before the change comes. The barista stares after him, then at me, like I might explain.
I can't. I'm still doing the math he didn't bother with.
“You’re not getting anything to eat?” I ask as we walk to a table.
“I don’t really do pastries.”
“You don’t do museums or pastries.” I shake my head. “What do you do, Kai?”
The question seems to catch him off guard. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before he smooths his expression. “Work, mostly.”
“That sounds depressing.”
“It is.”
I laugh, startled by his bluntness. “At least you’re self-aware.”
We sit by the window. The city spreads out below us in a grid of amber and white light against a bruised sky. I wrap my hands around the hot chocolate and let the steam hit my face.
“You should try a bite,” I say, pushing the croissant toward him. “Live a little.”
He looks at the pastry with suspicion.
“It won’t kill you,” I add. “Probably. I’ve known this croissant for thirty seconds, so we haven’t built that level of trust yet, but it looks friendly.”
His lips curve, barely, and my breath does something stupid. He breaks off a small piece and tries it. I watch the way his jaw works, the slight furrow between his brows as he focuses on the taste.
“Well?”
He swallows. “It’s very good.”
“There it is.” I grin. “Welcome to the world of carbohydrates. Your life will never be the same.”
“I doubt that.”
“Give it time. First museums, now croissants. By next week, you’ll be doing yoga.”
“I already do yoga.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“No.”
I stare at him. “Was that a joke?”
“Was it funny?”
“It was unexpected. Which I think is the best kind.”
He takes another piece of the croissant without being asked. I find myself watching the way he handles the fork, his movements precise and controlled.
