She glances over at me, almost surprised the question is that simple.
“Coffee? Again?”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes.
“Fine. Why not?”
I start it brewing because doing something with my hands is smarter than standing here watching her in my space like it doesn’t mean anything.
The cabin settles around us while the coffee drips. Fire snapping low in the stove. Refrigerator clicking on. Wind moving through the pines outside.
She stays close to the counter but not too close, hands hanging awkward at her sides like she’s not sure where to put them.
I pour the coffee and hand one cup over.
Our fingers brush.
Small touch. Still enough to get my attention in a way I don’t like.
She wraps both hands around the mug and takes a careful sip. Her eyes close for half a second.
That hits harder than it should.
I lean back against the counter with my own cup.
She looks at me over the rim. Quiet. Thinking.
Then, “We never said names.”
Right.
I nod once. “No.”
Something in her shoulders eases. Just a little. Like the fact I noticed too matters.
She looks down at her coffee again, then back up. “I’m Julie.”
It fits her too well.
“Julie,” I say.
Her throat moves.
“And you?”
“Tank.”
Her brows pull together. “That your real name?”
“No.”
She waits.
I take another sip of coffee. “It’s Conrad.”
That tiny almost-smile touches her mouth again and disappears.
