Something shifts in his face then — not quite a smile, never quite a smile, but the thing that lives right next to one. He leans against the counter and we don't talk for a while after that, and the kitchen holds us in its particular quiet, and the coffee is warm in my hands, and nothing requires anything from either of us.
This is staying. The intentional kind. The version where I'm not holding one hand on the door behind me just in case. I'm on this stool, in this kitchen, with this man who handed me my coffee back and made no fuss about the rest, and some part of me that has been holding itself ready for the crash for a very long time is slowly, carefully, setting down the weight.
I'm not falling apart. I'm putting things together.
There's a difference, and I'm only now learning to feel it.
Chapter 18
Beck
The trouble with having a reputation for being unreadable is that everyone notices the second you stop being one.
Aiden is leaning against the apparatus bay wall when I walk in, holding a granola bar and doing nothing faster than a man who has been waiting for an audience. He doesn't say anything. He just watches me cross to the coffee station with the particular focused attention of someone who has formed a hypothesis and is waiting to confirm it.
I pour a mug without looking at him. The station coffee is terrible — over-brewed, the color of late October creek water. I drink it anyway because Gemma's coffee is at home, and I am at work, and I am apparently no longer capable of treating those as fully separate categories.
"Don't," I say.
"I haven't said anything."
"You're about to say several things."
Aiden takes a bite of his granola bar. Chews, unhurried. "Riley mentioned you seem different."
"I'm not different."
"She said you look like someone who stopped carrying something in his shoulders."
I drink the terrible coffee.
"She's very perceptive," Aiden says.
"She's terrifying."
He grins. It's the grin of a man who is completely gone on someone and broadcasts it constantly and has no plans to stop. Six months ago, that grin made me want to confiscate his coffee on principle. Nobody that ridiculous should look that happy. Now I know what to call it.
I don't say that.
Derek arrives with donuts and news I didn't request. He drops the bag on the counter, reaches in without looking, and delivers his briefing before he's even found the one he wants. "Tommy called her Captain Grumpy Sunshine's Girlfriend at morning lineup."
I turn from the coffee station.
"Capital G," Derek confirms. "He was intentional about it. Made a whole announcement." He extracts a chocolate glazed with the satisfaction of a man who found it on the first try. "She threw a gauze roll at him."
"Was she accurate?"
"Square between the eyes. Didn't even look."
That's my girl. I absolutely do not say that out loud.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it when I get a moment.
the appointment is Thursday. idk why I'm telling you this.
I step to the side of the apparatus bay and type back:because we do that now.
Three dots. A pause that runs a little long. Then:yeah. we do.
