The crack.
The tiniest opening.
I don’t push through.
Not yet.
Instead, I buy us both hot cider and hand him one.
“You look like someone who forgets to give himself warmth,” I say.
He smiles again. Tired, genuine. “I do okay.”
“Well,” I say, pulling a pen from my bag. “If you ever forget.”
I write my number on the napkin.
Fold it.
Hand it to him like it’s no big deal.
“For warmth. Or better cheese recommendations. Or if you ever want to talk goats and mountains.”
He laughs again, tucks the napkin into his pocket like it’s precious.
Good boy.
I turn.
Walk away.
Sunflower in one hand. Cider in the other.
I don’t look back.
Don’t have to.
He’ll text.
He will.
He has to.
Because if he doesn’t, I’ll have to adjust my approach, and I really don’t want to have to break into his house again while he’s home, because that requires more planning and I’m impatient and…
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
My heart stops.
Restarts.
Kicks into overdrive.
Vitaly: This is Vitaly. From the market. Thank you for the warmth.
Oh.
