Page 8 of The Moment I Knew

“Like you weren’t planning on it earlier?”

I let out a deep sigh, trying to hold my anger in.

“Maybe,” I said, “you’re just mad because the coffee wasn’t that good.”

He snorted before he could stop himself. “Sure.”

“It could’ve been worse,” I added, because apparently I’d lost all sense of self-preservation. “At least the floor didn’t complain.”

His expression shifted, going from angry to almost amused. Almost.

He leaned forward, forearms bracing against the counter, closing the space just enough that I could smell the coffee on his breath—dark, bitter, and unfairly distracting. His voice dropped when he spoke, like the words were meant for me alone.

“There you go again,” he said, his voice quiet but deep, “saying things you don’t mean.”

Heat crept up my neck, traitorous and sudden. My embarrassment from earlier was fading away, being replaced by something I hadn’t expected to feel tonight—an understanding of why other girls were flocking here to see this boy.

But I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing his effect on me, so I just lifted my chin and stared right back at him. I could just imagine what he was thinking of me. Some spoiled private school girl who’d never worked a day in her life. Too mouthy. Too sheltered. Too used to getting her way.

“It was the best coffee you’ve ever had,” he went on, eyes steady on mine, “and you know it.”

The worst part was that he was completely right. But I wasn’t about to go and admit that, so I just narrowed my eyes at him and said, “No, I can promise you that I meant that too.”

I turned on my heel and walked away, heart thudding far too loudly for someone who’d supposedly just won. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes on me anyway, heavy as a hand between my shoulder blades.

“What just happened?” Ainsley asked as we stepped away. I just laughed and shook my head.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

We were almost at the couch Clementine and Reese had claimed, but I felt all flushed and jittery after the conversation I’d just had. I needed to splash some cold water on my face or something.

“Hey,” I said, passing my cup into Ainsley’s hands before she could protest. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I scanned the café, expecting a hallway or at least a clearly marked door, but all I saw was the narrow staircase tucked beside the counter, half-hidden by a pillar. Bathrooms upstairs made sense. Extra seating, too. The place was packed, after all.

The noise from downstairs faded with each step, the music turning into a soft vibration through the walls. The only sound up here was the soft click of the heels of my black boots hitting the steps. The top of the staircase opened to a small landing. On one side there were hooks covered in coats and a mat of boots along the floor. I guess this was where they kept the coats from the coat check? It seemed a little odd to have it so far away from where we handed them over, but I guess if this was the easier spot, it worked.

The other two walls of the landing each had a door. Neither of them were marked as men’s or women’s, so I just pushed open the one to my right, figuring it was a single-stall washroom.

I was wrong.

The first thing I noticed was the couch. Not a rough one like the ones downstairs, but a nice leather couch with a knit blanket draped over the arm. A low coffee table sat in front of it, cluttered with mail, a half-empty mug, and what looked suspiciously like a math textbook. The walls were lined with framed photos and further in was a kitchen with a sink full of dishes.

I blinked. Maybe this was some kind of staff lounge?

I took a cautious step forward, my shoes sinking into a rug that was definitely not commercial-grade. The air smelled faintly like laundry detergent and coffee grounds, not cleaning spray.

Okay. So. Not a bathroom.

The first door I passed was locked. The second was a closet. The third—at the end of the hall—was cracked open just enough for light to spill out. I pushed it open slightly, then stopped when I realized it was a bedroom. My eyes caught on the Northern High shirt tossed haphazardly across the bed.

The same shirt that Hot Barista was wearing this morning.

My mind started running. My pulse picked up. And my mind was made up before I could talk myself out of it. I told myself I was only going to peek. Just a glance. Just enough to confirm whether this was even his room. I nudged the door open with my fingertips.

I should go back down.

That was the sensible thing. The rule-following thing. The thing I would absolutely tell anyone else to do. I shifted my weight, already turning toward the stairs. This was not who I was. I didn’t snoop. I didn’t sneak into strangers’ apartments because of half-baked curiosity and a barista with a bad attitude. I liked control. I liked knowing what I was doing and why I was doing it.