I almost say it out loud. The whole thing… that I think about her more than I should, that I'm not actually there for the coffee, that something about the way she holds herself like she's bracing for impact makes me want to be the thing she doesn't have to brace against. It sits right there on the edge of my teeth.
Then I look at my cousins and remember I have exactly zero desire to have that conversation in a booth at The Place.
So I swallow it.
Tyler watches me do it. He's been watching me do it since I sat down, because Tyler doesn't miss anything, which is deeply inconvenient when you're trying to act like a normal person who definitely hasn't rearranged his entire schedule around a woman who hasn't given him a single reason for optimism.
"You’re not going to tell us," he says. Not a question.
"Nothing to tell."
He nods slowly, that particular nod that means he's filing this away for later. "Okay."
It's the okay that gets me. No argument, no push. Just okay, I see you, I'll wait.
I stare at the table. “She looks damn exhausted,” I admit, voice low. “Like she’s been fighting off the world and no one’s ever stepped up to fight for her. Makes me want to step in. Makes me want to make sure she never has to do it alone again.”
The booth goes quiet.
"Okay," Tyler says again, softer this time. "Yeah."
"I’m not saying I’m doing anything about it," I add. "I’m just… aware of it."
Trent picks up his drink. "Sure you are."
Tyler’s smile fades. “You sure you’re okay? This isn’t your usual.”
"I'm fine," I lie. "Really."
Under the table my knee is bouncing. I press my palm flat against it and make it stop. Tyler's watching me with that quiet, forensic patience, the kind that's gotten worse since he settled down, like happiness gave him extra bandwidth to analyze everyone around him.
"You’re doing the jaw thing," he says.
"I don’t have a jaw thing."
"You’ve had a jaw thing since you were nine. You do it when you want something you can’t figure out how to get." He tilts his head. "When’s the last time you couldn’t figure out how to get something?"
The honest answer is never. The honest answer is that I've coasted on easy my entire adult life and I didn't know that was a problem until I walked into a café and a woman looked straight through my best smile like it was made of tissue paper.
"It’s just coffee," I tell him. The words land hollow even to my own ears.
Tyler looks at me for a long moment. "Okay, Ax."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He picks up his drink. "Whenever you’re ready."
That's somehow worse than being pushed.
"Whatever you say, man," Trent adds. “Just be careful. Sounds like she’s juggling a lot.”
“There’s no situation,” I say firmly. “I’m just a regular customer. End of story.”
Already, though, I’m planning tomorrow morning. I’ll swing by Pike’s Perk under the pretense of supplier checks. Practical relationship-building with local businesses and all that.
It's a flimsy excuse, and I know it. But it's the one I'm going with.
It's exactly 8:17 a.m. the next day when I pull into Pike's Perk's parking lot. I've got a perfectly legitimate reason this time. The brewery board meeting needs catering, and Pike's Perk has the best pastry selection in town. That's all. Just business.
