I buy time with the lemon tart. I think about the life I dismantled in Ashford. The version of myself I’m still trying to find.
“A little of both,” I say. “Mostly toward, I hope.”
He nods as if he understands precisely what I mean. We sit in silence for a moment, the noise of the café fading into a hum.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, steering us back to safer ground.
“My whole life.”
“And you've never been to this museum.”
“I've never been to any museum.”
“That's criminal, Kai. Truly.”
“So I've been told.” He pauses. “Tonight.”
“By me.”
“By you.”
I smile. “Well, someone had to say it.”
“And you're always this direct?”
“Only when I've had good news and hot chocolate.” I wrap my hands around the mug. “Usually I'm much more...”
“What?”
“Careful.” The word comes out quieter than I intended. “I'm usually more careful.”
There it is again. That look, like he's trying to hear what I'm not saying.
“Careful sounds exhausting,” he says.
“It is.”
“You don’t have to be careful tonight,” he says.
I don’t know if it is an observation or an invitation. Before I can answer, the café lights flicker. A barista begins wiping down the far counter with closing-time energy.
“I think we’re being evicted,” I say, checking my phone. I have three increasingly frantic texts from Zoe.
Zoe: EMMA.
If you’re dead in a ditch,
I swear to god.
I type back quickly.
Me: Alive. Got the job. At the museum café with a guy. 99% sure he’s not a serial killer. He carries a handkerchief.
Zoe: That proves NOTHING.
CALL ME.
I silence the phone and put it face down. “Sorry. My friend is invested in my survival.”
