“That’s good,” Kai says. “To have people who worry.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if anyone worries about him. “Do you have that? People who check in?”
“A few.” A ghost of a smile touches his face. “Though they’d probably just show up at my door rather than text.”
I stand up and bring our plates and mugs to the counter.
“I’ll walk you out,” Kai says. It is not a question.
The galleries are empty now. Our footsteps echo off the polished floors.
“Thank you,” I say as we reach the main entrance. “For the coffee. And the pastries. It was nice to make a new friend in this city.”
His mouth pulls tight for a half-second. “Friend,” he repeats.
“Is that too forward? I don’t know the protocol for museum strangers.”
The night air hits us as we step outside. Sharp, heavy with the smell of coming rain.
“How are you getting home?” Kai asks.
“The bus stop is just around the corner.”
He frowns. “Let me drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve taken enough of your evening.”
“Then a taxi. It's cold, and it's about to pour.”
The quiet authority in his voice makes the decision feel like a gift rather than a demand.
“Okay,” I give in, “A taxi.”
He taps his phone a few times. “Five minutes.”
We stand under the museum’s glass entrance while the first drops of rain begin to fall. I rock back on my heels. This is ending. Whatever this was.
“I had a good time,” I say. “A really good time. Which is weird to say to someone I met two hours ago, but there it is.”
“It's not weird.”
“It feels a little weird.”
“Then we're both weird.”
I laugh. “I can live with that.”
The rain picks up. He looks at me for a long moment.
“Can I have your number, Emma? For staircase emergencies.”
I type my number in and hand it back. He looks at the screen and lifts an eyebrow.
“I'll remember.”
The rain turns into a downpour. Kai shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The fabric is warm, heavy. Sandalwood and cold rain.
“You’ll get soaked,” I say.
