Page 37 of What They Say

Chapter Eleven

Kath

Kath stood behind the counter at The Grindhouse, methodically wiping down the espresso machine while her mind wandered miles away.

It had been three days since the last ride with Chase, and she still couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way he’d sat behind her on the bike without a single complaint about riding passenger. The quiet respect shown by his hands at her waist. The way he’d listened—really listened—when she read him her lyrics. No jokes. No trying to “fix” her words. Just steady gray eyes and that soft “I hear music when you read them.”

She’d wanted to kiss him that night. Badly. And the next time they’d been together.

But she hadn’t. Because kissing him would make it real. And real things broke.

“Earth to Kath.”

She blinked and looked up. Her coworker, Riley, was grinning at her from the register.

“You’ve been polishing that same spot for five minutes. You good?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Kath tossed the rag into the sink. “Just tired.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Tired, or thinking about that guy who keeps texting you? The one who makes you actually smile at your phone?”

Kath felt her cheeks warm. “Shut up.”

Riley laughed. “He must be something. You’ve turned down three different regulars this week.”

Kath didn’t answer. She busied herself restocking cups, but her mind drifted back to Chase again. The way he’d said they could go slow. The way he hadn’t pushed. The way he made her feel seen without making her feel exposed.

It terrified her.

Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She pulled it out and felt that stupid little flutter in her chest when she saw his name.

*Hey. Hope your shift’s going okay. Got a new melody stuck in my head from the other night. Thinking about your lyrics again. No pressure, but if you ever want to share more...I’m here.*

Kath stared at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering.

She wanted to reply. Wanted to tell him she’d been thinking about him too. That his quiet steadiness was starting to feel like something she could lean on.

But then her mother’s voice echoed in the back of her head—laughing too loud, promising the newest guy was “the one,” packing another bag and leaving them with nothing but bills and silence.

Kath locked her phone without replying and shoved it back into her pocket.

She wasn’t her mother.

But God, she was scared of how easily that difference could be struck down, left by the wayside with one bad decision.

Later that evening, after her shift ended, she rode home slower than usual. When she walked through the front door, Maudie was at the kitchen table again, staring at a stack of bills with a glass of wine in her hand.

Kath hesitated, then sat down across from her.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”

Maudie looked up, tired but not angry this time. “Just trying to figure out how we’re going to chip away at Mom’s mess. The credit cards...they’re not going away.”

“I know.” Kath reached across the table and squeezed her sister’s hand. “We’ll keep doing what we’re doing. Extra shifts. Selling some of my old gear if we have to. We’re not her. We don’t run.”

Maudie gave her a small, genuine smile. “You seem different lately. Lighter. Is it the bike...or the boy?”