“Cyril’s Café?”
“That’s the one.”
“I love that place.” Ryan felt himself blush.
“See you soon.”
Ryan could’ve sworn he’d heard a purr, but people didn’t purr. “See you soon.”
* * * *
Grayson left through the front entrance. Ryan stood in the supply closet for longer than necessary, staring at the bottles of disinfectant and telling himself to get a grip. Two o'clock was still hours away. He had work to do. Animals that needed him.
He managed to focus for most of the remaining morning. He gave medications, checked vitals, helped Dr. Sullivan with a cat that had eaten something it shouldn't have. But his eyes kept finding the clock on the wall. 11:15. 11:42. 12:06.
“You can leave early if you want,” Dr. Sullivan said around twelve thirty, catching Ryan checking his phone for the third time in ten minutes. “We’re slow today.”
“I’m fine until my shift ends.”
Dr. Sullivan gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. Ryan tried to ignore the way his face heated.
At one thirty, he clocked out and practically ran to his car. The drive home took twelve minutes. He had twenty-eight minutes to shower and change and somehow look like someone worth having coffee with. The math felt impossible.
His apartment was small and cluttered with veterinary textbooks and houseplants he kept forgetting to water. He stripped off his scrubs in the hallway, leaving a trail of clothes to the bathroom. The shower ran hot, and he scrubbed away the smell of the clinic, shampooed his hair twice, stood under the spray longer than he should have.
Eighteen minutes left.
He pulled on clean jeans and stood in front of his closet trying to decide on a shirt. The blue one made him look washed out. The green one had a stain on the sleeve he’d never managed to get out. He settled on a soft gray T-shirt and a flannel button-up he left open. Casual. Not like he’d tried too hard. He ran product through his hair, attempting to make the mess look intentional rather than accidental.
Twelve minutes left.
Cyril's Café was a ten-minute walk from his apartment. Ryan grabbed his keys and wallet and left before he could second-guess the outfit choice.
The afternoon sun sat warm on his shoulders as he walked. Main Street was quiet for a Saturday, just a few people browsing the antique shop windows and an elderly couple walking a corgi. The dog wagged at Ryan as they passed. He waved back at the owners, trying to ignore the way his stomach was attempting to climb into his throat.
This was just coffee. People got coffee together all the time. It didn’t mean anything. Except it did mean something, and Ryan knew it, and that knowledge made his palms sweat.
He reached the café three minutes early. The outdoor seating area consisted of small round tables with mismatched chairs, shaded by a faded green awning. Grayson wasn't there yet. Ryan stood on the sidewalk, trying to decide if he should sit down and wait or keep standing, and then Grayson rounded the corner and the decision became irrelevant.
He’d changed too. Dark jeans and a gray shirt that fit him in ways that should probably be illegal. His hair was still damp, like he’d showered recently. The thought of Grayson getting ready for this, standing in his own bathroom trying to decide what to wear, made Ryan’s stomach flip.
“Hey,” Grayson said, stopping a few feet away.
“Hey.” Ryan tried to remember how to act like a normal person. “You found it okay?”
“Hard to miss. It’s literally the only café on Main Street.”
“True.” Ryan felt his mouth curve into a smile. “Small-town problems.”
They went inside together. The café smelled like espresso and cinnamon, the air conditioning a relief after the warmth outside. The girl behind the counter looked about sixteen and deeply uninterested in being there. Ryan ordered an iced latte. Grayson got black coffee again, and Ryan made a mental note about that.
“You want anything to eat?” Grayson asked, gesturing at the pastry case.
“I’m okay.”
Grayson pulled out his wallet, but Ryan was already handing cash to the girl. “I've got it.”
“You don't have to do that.”
