“So you moved here alone,” he says. Not a question.
“Yeah.”
“No roommates?”
“No.”
“No family in town?”
Something tightens in my chest, but I keep my voice level. “Not really.”
He studies me a little longer than necessary. “Why do you look like you’re always braced for impact?”
I stiffen before I can stop myself. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “You’ve said that already.”
I exhale sharply. “Okay. You know what? Fine.”
He blinks.
“I moved here a couple of weeks ago,” I rattle off. “Student at Rixton U. Undecided major because, well, I have commitment issues. Raised by my mom. No built-in tragic backstory for you to solve or rescue me from.”
His mouth twitches.
“I work nights at Broken Saddle,” I continue, warming up now. “First shift was yesterday. Met Sasha approximately twenty-four hours ago. She’s currently my only friend and, I guess, now my emergency contact.”
He actually laughs under his breath.
“I live in the loft above the bar,” I add. “It’s temporary. Questionable insulation. Possibly haunted. But it came furnished and has a roof, so I’m calling it a win.”
“Haunted?” he repeats.
“Jury’s still out.” I shrug. “Blood type O negative. Left-handed. Allergic to bullshit. And that’s everything I can think of before you ask for my social security number.”
He’s smiling now. Not smug. Just… entertained.
“That supposed to make me stop asking questions?” he asks.
“It’s supposed to overwhelm you into submission.”
“Didn’t work.” He shrugs. “But I respect the attempt.”
I groan. “Of course you do.”
His gaze lingers a second longer than before. “You’re not what I expected.”
I frown. “Expected from what?”
He tilts his head, but his eyes stay on mine. “I don’t know. I just figured I would’ve heard about you by now.”
Something tightens low in my stomach.
“I like to keep a low profile,” I say.
He nods once. “Yeah, that checks out.”
The noise around us seems to creep back in. Sasha reappears at my side, slipping easily into the space like she’s been waiting for an opening.
