Smart.
The word does not fit. I have never been called that before. I don’t know how to accept it. I do not know if I am allowed to believe it.
But the girl said it like it was obvious. Like she had seen something in me that I had never seen in myself.
I stare at the space where the girl had been, a faint, unfamiliar warmth settling in my chest.
The warmth is small. Tentative. I don’t fully trust it. It feels new, and new things have always been dangerous. But it is there, and I cannot make it go away.
Someone pulls out the chair beside me.
I turn.
It’s Kieran.
He is wearing a yellow sweater. His hair falls across his forehead, one stubborn piece that won’t stay where it belongs. Someone says something across the room and he laughs before he even sits down.
He nudges his chair a few inches to the side, widening the space between us.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “I thought this was a family dinner.”
He grimaces a little, sheepish. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah… it is. Maeve and I are cousins.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised.
It makes sense now. They’re relaxed with each other at the café. They finish each other’s sentences. They tease. They move around one another like old friends who grew up together.
“Her parents own the café. They retired and handed it over to Maeve. The staff doesn’t know about me, though.” He rubs the back of his neck again. “We kept it that way because if people knew, they’d think I got the job because she’s family, or that she goes easy on me.”
I tilt my head. “But you do have one of the easier jobs.”
The words come out before I can stop them. They are not mean. They are not an accusation. They are just… true. A statement of fact. He works the register—smiling, chatting, tapping the screen. It seems lighter than hauling trash or scrubbing toilets or cleaning the bathrooms.
Kieran’s jaw drops slightly. His mouth opens. His eyes widen. For a moment, I think I have offended him.
Then he lets out a loud, genuine laugh.
His shoulders shake. His eyes water. He has to wipe them with the back of his hand. For a moment, he just sits there, catching his breath, still smiling.
“Wow,” he chuckles, shaking his head. The laugh is still in his voice, warm and easy. “Ouch. Damn, Nora.”
I frown. “Why are you laughing?”
He looks at me, his laughter fading into a softer, more thoughtful expression. “Because it was funny,” he says, his gaze steady and sincere. “You’re funny.”
I go completely still.
Funny.
The word lands in my chest next tosmart. They sit there, side by side, two small, unfamiliar things that I don’t know what to do with.
Smart.
Funny.
They feel like clothes from someone else’s wardrobe. Beautiful, but I don’t know how to wear them. I don’t know if they fit. I don’t know if I trust the mirror.
But the words were offered freely. No one wanted anything from me. No one had an angle. They just said what they saw.
