And the way Imighthave said something about getting coffee sometime. I don’t even know if I meant it.
…Okay, I totally meant it.
The blender finally shuts off. I pour the smoothie, take a sip, and immediately regret putting kale in anything ever. There are decisions you make sober that should not be revisited hungover.
My phone buzzes on the counter, screen lighting up with a name I haven’t seen in my messages in almost a year.
Silas: Did you mean it when you said you’d get coffee sometime?
I freeze.
No hey. No awkward lead-in. Just…straight to it.
I stare at it long enough for the screen to go dark again, then tap it back on, rereading the message as if it might change the second time.
My heart does this weird fluttery thing in my chest—half thrill, half panic. Because yeah, I meant it. I just didn’t think he’d actually ask.
I thumb a quick reply before I can second guess myself.
Me: Yeah. I did.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Come back.
Disappear again.
Then finally:
Silas: Today? There’s a place near the park on Seventh. Quiet, good coffee, bacon and eggs, no judgment if you show up in sunglasses.
I let out a laugh and lean my hip against the counter. I glance at the clock on the microwave, 9:06 am. Bacon, eggs, and coffee sounds way better than this smoothie.
Me: Sold. 10 too early?
Silas: 10 is perfect.
I stare at the thread for a long moment, then set my phone down slowly, the buzz of it still humming under my skin.
I dump the smoothie down the sink without a shred of guilt and rinse the blender like it personally offended me.
No way I’m showing up to see Silas with kale breath. Absolutely not.
I bolt down the hallway to my room and yank open drawers as though I'm on a timed game show. Where the hell is my good hoodie? Not the beat-up one with the fadedStar Warslogo—my actual, respectable hoodie that saysI’m casual but not falling apart emotionally anymore.
“Dude?” Ty’s groggy voice calls from the hallway. “Are we under attack?”
“Emergency coffee date,” I call back, nearly face-planting intothe closet.
Ty appears in the doorway, shirtless and blinking. “Is that a thing?”
“It is now.” I pull on jeans, hopping one-legged as I dig around for socks. “Also, do I look better with my hair messy or pushed back?”
Ty scratches his head. “Is this, like… real date energy or fake date energy?”
I freeze. “I have no idea.”
