Page 52 of Keller

"Consider me open to conversion." He finishes his juice and sets the empty cup aside. "Four o'clock it is."

"Fun. I'm excited to not go see it alone. My bestie has bailed on me twice, so I'm not waiting on her anymore."

We stand. He reaches for both cups, tossing them in the recycling bin near the door. As he steps around my chair to head toward the sidewalk, his fingers rest briefly at my elbow. The touch is light. Deliberate. And one before I can react.

"I won't bail on you. Promise."

I think that is a veiled reference to me bailing on him, although I never committed. But he said it tongue-in-cheek, and there is something about our gentle ribbing that has me feeling like a teenager.

I remember the way he was so attentive the night we went back to his loft. I shake it off because I'm still trying to decide if letting this go further is even a good idea.

He walks away, disappearing into the flow of pedestrians heading toward the streetcar stop. I watch him go until he rounds the corner.

My apartment smellslike lavender and steam when I step out of the shower. The bathroom mirror is fogged over, and I wipe a streak across it with my palm. My reflection stares back, cheeks flushed from the hot water.

I check the clock on my bedside table and see it's only 11:12.

I wrap the towel tighter and pad into my bedroom. The hardwood is cool under my bare feet. Sunlight slants through the blinds in narrow bars.

I catch myself smiling at nothing.

Stop it.

But the flutter in my chest won't settle. I think about the way his fingers brushed my elbow yesterday, the way he remembered I don't like pulp, the way he agreed to a psychological thriller without hesitation or judgment.

I know I'm playing with fire, but I can't make the logical choice when he's so damn cute and funny. Every part of my brain screams that this is reckless, that I should have let things end with the run. That's what friends do.

Friends don't make follow-up plans every time they see each other.

I pull on yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Movie attire comes later. Right now, I have hours to fill, and idle hands make me restless.

I walk over to my home office, which is really a small desk against the wall in a closet, a corkboard covered in notes and clippings that have nothing to do with work. Personal stuff. Reminders to call my dad. A photo of my sister at her high school graduation, her smile wide and unguarded.

I sit in my chair, and the leather creaks. My laptop hums to life.

Focus.

The giddiness fades as muscle memory takes over. I log into the encrypted portal, entering my credentials and waiting for the two-factor authentication. The system loads slowly, with security protocols stacking.

The preliminary review of Stone Intermodal fills my screen.

I remind myself, again, that I am not investigating Keller. His name appears nowhere in these files. His role in the family business is separate from the freight operations. The gaming tables exist in a different ecosystem entirely, one that falls outside my current assignment.

I refresh my inbox, and new messages populate the queue. Most are routine. Interdepartmental updates, scheduling confirmations, and a reminder about mandatory compliance training.

One subject line catches my attention.

Port Authority Liaison—Q3/Q4 Variance Summary

I click it open. The message is brief and professional. Attached is a spreadsheet that the liaison flagged for review. Several October manifests were amended after initial clearance.Normal fluctuations happen, but amended post-clearance documents warrant a second look.

I download the attachment.

Columns fill my screen. Container IDs, original clearance timestamps, amendment timestamps, routing changes, and authorization codes. The data is dense but organized. I scroll methodically, eyes scanning each row.

My heartbeat steadies. My breathing slows.

Most fluctuations align with seasonal norms. There's the normal holiday shipping increases volume, weather delays creating backlog, and necessary port congestion shifting routing.