Page 148 of Keller

I check my watch. That's in two hours. I give her a thumbs up on the text and pocket my phone

The elevator doors open. I step into the fading afternoon light.

The coffee shopsits on a corner of Magazine where the streetlights don't quite reach. I arrive at six forty-five out of habit. Never walk into a room without knowing its exits, its angles, and its blind spots.

The space is narrow and deep, exposed brick on one side, a chalkboard menu on the other. Jazz plays softly enough to blur conversations. Three couples are scattered at small tables. A man in the back corner is typing on a laptop.

I take the table near the window with a clear sightline to the door.

Neutral ground. Her words, her choice.

I order a black coffee and a latte for her to be nice. I sit down with our drinks and wrap my hands around the paper even though it's ninety-five degrees outside.

At six fifty-eight, the door opens, and Quinn walks in.

My chest tightens before my brain catches up.

She looks different. Not worse. Not better. Her hair falls loose past her shoulders instead of pulled back tight the way she wore it for work. She's wearing a soft gray sweater over dark jeans.

But there's something else, something I can't name yet.

She spots me and crosses the room. There's no hesitation in her stride or nervous energy in her hands.

She slides into the chair across from me. Her hazel eyes meet mine, and she doesn't look away.

"Thank you for meeting me."

"You said it was important."

"It is."

"I ordered you a latte. I know you don't like caffeine after lunch, so I got a decaf."

"Wow. Thank you. That was really thoughtful, Keller."

"I resigned from the Bureau."

That lands. I certainly wasn't expecting it.

"When?"

"Officially, two months ago. But I've been gone five weeks. I'm running Southern Stars now. The foundation."

I nod and wait. Surely she didn't ask to meet me to announce a career change.

"That's not why you called, though."

"No." She takes a breath, holds it, then releases it slowly. "I'm pregnant, Keller. I'm four months along. It's yours."

The words hit my ears, then travel to my brain. They stop there, unsure where to go.

Pregnant.

Four months.

Yours.

I don't move or blink. Mariah Carey keeps playing in the background, and someone laughs at another table.