I topped up my mug and stayed exactly where I was.
I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still wearing pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, my hair messy from sleep. The early light made the space feel calmer and less polished.
The coffee machine waited on the counter like a reward for surviving the night. I figured it out through stubborn trial and error by the second day. It made a few loud noises and steam rose into the air.
I leaned against the counter and watched the city stretch toward the day.
My phone buzzed softly on the counter. I glanced down–habit than necessary. A couple of hospital notifications. Shift coverage requests.
“You’re up early.”
I jumped violently, nearly dropping my mug. My heart slammed against my ribs as I spun around.
Emma stood in the doorway wearing an oversized shirt that read"I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right"in bold letters. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a chaotic knot.
“I thought you slept until seven,” I said, pressing my hand to my racing chest.
"Usually." She climbed onto a bar stool and swung her feet like a much younger child. "But I smelled coffee. Plus I wanted to catch you alone before Riven gets back from his run."
My fingers tightened around the mug. “Why would you want that?”
“Because Riven is always gone on his runs in the mornings and I have questions.” She rested her chin in both hands and raised her eyebrows. “Do you like my brother?”
The mug slipped a little in my fingers. “What?”
“It’s a simple question. Do you think my brother is attractive?”
"Emma, I don't think that's?—"
"I've noticed the way you look at him sometimes," she continued relentlessly. "And more importantly, the way he looks at you. It's painfully obvious to anyone with functional eyesight."
Heat rushed up my neck and warmed my ears. “He does not look at me in any particular way.”
“He absolutely does,” she said without hesitation. “He has that intense stare going on. Very dramatic and slightly ridiculous.”
"Your brother is my employer," I said firmly, pouring coffee with unnecessary concentration. "This is a professional arrangement. That's all."
I started making fresh-squeezed orange juice just to give my hands something productive to do.
Emma laughed. “Oh my God, you actually believe that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“It’s not,” she said, accepting the glass I slid across the counter. “He’s been acting strange since you got here.”
She took a deliberate sip.
"Well, maybe he's just adjusting to having someone new in the apartment," I suggested weakly.
"He checked his reflection in mirrors multiple times a day and asked me if his hair looked okay." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Rivenneverasks about his hair. The man could show up to surgery with a bedhead and not notice."
"Maybe he just felt like looking presentable," I offered.
“For who? Me?” She took another sip.
"Riven took me in because you needed qualified post-operative monitoring. And, coincidentally, because I was homeless. That’s all.”
“Is it though?” she asked. Emma tilted her head, studying me with unnerving perception. “Because the air gets tense whenever you’re both in the same room. And it’s not awkward tense.It’s definitely romance-movie tense.” She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively.
