I consider this. “Somewhere between ‘functioning’ and ‘feral.’”
“Excellent. So, a latte and a cake of some kind with frosting.”
She sets to work before I can answer, which is honestly amazing.
I wrap my hands around the edge of the counter and let the place settle over me. The rhythm of it. The normal of it. Cups clinking, milk steaming, someone laughing too loud at something that is probably not that funny.
I’m still clocking everything.
Doors.
Movement.
Who’s behind me.
It’s quieter here, but my brain is still doing that thing where it maps exits like I’m about to be graded on survival.
I hate it.
Especially when the whispers start.
Someone behind me says, “Founders Day’s going to be packed this year. Especially the bake sale.”
“Yeah,” another voice replies. “Long as that bar doesn’t bring trouble with it.”
A third voice cuts in, lighter. “Oh, please. They’ve done more for this place in two weeks than the last owners did all year.”
Shit.
A week ago, I would’ve heard that kind of conversation and felt like I was standing in the middle of something fragile. Like one wrong move, and the whole town would turn.
Now…
I just feel a little queasy.
Lani slides my latte across the counter and sets down a cinnamon roll that could double as emotional support.
“Eat,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I take a bite.
I do, in fact, feel marginally more stable.
“I’m being normal today,” I announce.
Lani leans her hip against the counter and studies me like she’s deciding whether or not to humor that. “That so?”
“Yes,” I say. “I am simply a woman having coffee. Nothing has happened. Nothing is happening. Everything is fine.”
She nods slowly. “Mm. And how’s that working out for you?”
I take another bite. Chew. Swallow. “Deeply unconvincing.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You’ve got a little… edge.”
“Define edge.”
