He beams.
And it’s just sunlight, caffeine, hay bale logistics, and a town that somehow makes complicated things feel normal.
Then across the street, a man in a baseball cap lifts his phone toward the window.
And everything inside me sharpens.
I watch the guy a second longer. He’s pretending to look at something on his phone, but I know the angle. He’s aiming at the window, at Aurora.
That’s when I decide I’m done with this. This might be exactly what I’ve been dreading, but also waiting for.
I stand up without a word, setting my coffee down with a little more force than necessary. Aurora glances up at the movement, but I don’t look at her. I’m already moving, walking to the door, and the guy doesn’t even see me coming. He’s too focused on the camera lens.
His phone’s half raised when I step into his personal space.
“Hey,” I snap.
He freezes, startled, eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Hey,” I repeat, but this time it’s not a greeting.
He’s trying to play it cool, but his fingers tighten around the phone, and I can see the hesitation in his eyes. Good. He knows he fucked up.
I lean in just enough to make it clear that if he even thinks about running, I’ll be faster. “You’ve been taking pictures.”
“Just…” He stammers. “Just getting a shot of the town. The, uh, café.”
“The café,” I repeat. “And you thought no one would notice?”
He shifts uncomfortably, but I don’t let him off the hook. Reaching for the phone, I yank it out of his hand without waiting for permission.
“Hey, man, it’s no big deal?—”
“It is a big deal,” I cut him off, already swiping through the phone, finding exactly what I knew I would.
A handful of pictures of Aurora.
I thumb through them quickly, one after the other. Pictures taken from outside the window, clear as day.
I delete them all.
“Listen, I didn’t mean any harm,” he mutters, reaching for the phone, but I move it out of his reach.
“Yeah, well,” I say with a cold smile, “you should have thought of that before you started snapping.” I press the phone back into his chest. “Who sent you?”
His lips thin.
That’s the tell.
If this was just some bored tourist with a photography hobby and too much time, he’d be babbling apologies by now. Instead, he’s calculating.
“Nobody sent me,” he says too carefully.
I tilt my head. “Wrong answer.”
He bristles. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
I step closer, close enough that he has to lean back or bump into the florist’s window behind him.
