Page 44 of Falling For Us Again

“Morning!” I say in an excessively cheerful tone as if that would compensate for my lateness.

She glances at me, then looks away without saying a word.

“Hey.” I say again.

Still no answer.

My eyebrows form a crease. “Oh oh...This is worse than you yelling at me.”

No response.

"Is it safe to enter?" I say, feigning a horrified expression. "No lecture? No eye roll? You’re just letting me slide?"

She snorts, tossing a dish towel onto the counter. "I’m saving it for later. Besides, I’ve got bigger fish to fry this morning."

I make my way behind the counter to grab an apron. "Oh? Like what? You finally decided to give up and let me take over as the responsible one around here?"

“In your dreams.”

Maggie’s smirk fades into something I can’t put my finger on. "I dropped by your place last night," she says, her voice casual as she lifts the pitcher and pours creamy milk into the cups of dark coffee. "You weren’t home."

I glance up from tying my apron, my fingers momentarily pausing on the knot. "Oh yeah, I spent the night at Jenna’s."

Something flickers in her eyes; her hands are unsteady. “I figured. I sent you a couple of texts, but I didn’t get a response.”

I take the milk pitcher from her. “Are you okay?”

She nods. She clasps and unclasps her hands. “Yeah. I don’t know why my hands are shaky today.”

“Alright, that’s it. You need some rest. You work too hard. I can handle the cafe today.”

“You have to come early to be able to run the cafe.” She snaps.

“Good thing I’m always the first to arrive.”

“Delusional.”

“Seriously though, are you okay?” I place a hand on her forehead.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

I sigh, pointing at her. “Alright then, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Maggie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her watching me. There’s no escaping her scrutiny, not after all the years we’ve spent running this place together. She knows me too well.

I don’t even have to look at her to know that her mouth is pulled into that slight frown she gets when she’s thinking, the one where her lips purse just enough to let you know she’s about to dig deeper.

"So," she says finally, her tone careful but carrying an edge of curiosity, "how’s Jenna? It looked like she suffered a panic attack last night.”

I keep my focus on pouring the coffee grounds into the filter, pretending I didn’t hear the full question.

“Yeah, she’s better now,” I say, the words feeling inadequate as they leave my mouth. I fumble with the espresso machine, watching the dark liquid stream into the cup, swirling in patterns that distract me from the knot tightening in my chest as I recall how terrified she was last night.

I’m grateful she lets it go. She’s good at knowing when to push and when to pull back, an instinct I’ve always admired in her.

Before I can escape into the relative peace before the lunch rush, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen. Kam Powells. The name alone sends a jolt of anxiety through me. I wasn’t expecting another call this soon.

"One sec," I mutter to Maggie, holding up the phone as I walk toward the back of the café. I press it to my ear, leaning against the wall. "Kam. Hey."

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