Page 19 of The Words of Us

“Sasha, you got another table,” Jackson calls from the kitchen, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Table five’s asking for you specifically.”

I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued, and make my way over to the table in question. It’s a couple of college kids, bright-eyed and grinning, probably here on a study break or justlooking to kill some time. They’re mostly new faces, but they seem friendly enough.

“What can I get for you?” I ask, pulling out my notepad with a smile.

They place their orders—wings, extra spicy, with a side of fries—and I nod, jotting it down quickly. As I turn to leave, one of them calls out, “Hey, Sasha?”

I pause, looking back at them. “Yeah?”

The kid grins, a little sheepish. “Thanks for the recommendation on the hot sauce last time. You weren’t kidding; it’s the best we’ve had.”

I laugh, nodding in acknowledgment. “Told you. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you eat right.”

He gives me a thumbs-up, and I head back to the kitchen, my mood lifting a little higher. It’s the little things like that—the small connections, the moments of shared laughter—that make this job more than just work. It’s about people and making someone’s day a little better, even if it’s just with a plate of wings and a joke.

By the time my shift ends, I’m tired but content, my pockets a little fuller and my heart a little lighter. I untie my apron, hang it back on the hook, and give Jackson a quick wave as I head for the door.

“See you Monday night, boss,” I call over my shoulder.

“Take care, Sasha,” he replies with a grin. “And don’t stay out too late this time!”

I laugh, stepping out into the afternoon sunshine.

The streets are alive with the usual buzz of New Orleans—tourists weaving through the sidewalks, music spilling out of every open door, the scent of street food mingling with the thick, humid air. I tuck my hair tie into my bag, feeling a pleasant heaviness in my pocket from the tips I’ve earned today. It’s been a good day, simple and steady, and my thoughts drift back toEvie, to the soft, quiet moments of the morning that still cling to me like a favorite song.

As I turn down a quieter street, I decide to finally check my phone. I’m not much of a phone person. Usually, it’s just a tool for work schedules and the occasional text from Glass. I hadn’t even given Evie my number yet, but I find myself hoping, just a little, that maybe she found a way to reach out. I dig my phone out of my bag and swipe it open, glancing at the screen as I walk.

There’s a notification: a new message from an unknown number. My heart skips, a little burst of excitement sparking inside me. Maybe it’s her. I open the message, and the words make me smile instantly.

Hey, is this Sasha?

It’s got to be Evie. Who else could it be? The thought sends a warm rush through me, and I can’t help but type back a quick, flirty reply, my fingers moving faster than my mind.

Hey, beautiful, you found me. I was just thinking about you! Just finished my shift at Bourbon Wings. What about you?

I hit send, already picturing Evie’s smile when she reads it. But almost immediately, a new message comes through, and the words make my stomach drop.

Are you Sasha Bennett from Westchester?

My breath catches, and my heart starts to pound, the lightness of the moment evaporating in an instant. It’s like a switch flips in my brain, and suddenly, all the warmth and ease I’ve been carrying with me turns to ice. I stare at the screen, the familiar, dreaded name of my past staring back at me, and every instinct I’ve trained myself to follow kicks in at once.

It’s not Evie. It’s someone else. Someone who knows too much; someone who’s reaching into a part of my life I’ve spent years trying to bury.

Panic flares, hot and fast, twisting my thoughts into a tangled mess of fear and frustration. I don’t know who this is, how theygot my number, or what they want, but I can’t risk finding out. I can’t let my past crawl back into this new, fragile thing I’m trying to build. My fingers fumble over the screen, my chest tightening as I try to steady my breathing. Without hesitating, I block the number, the screen blinking back to my home page as if nothing happened.

But I can’t shake the feeling. The moment is ruined, my sense of calm shattered by the sudden reminder of who I used to be—who I’ve been running from. I shove my phone back into my bag, my hands trembling as I pick up my pace, trying to put as much distance as I can between me and that message. The city around me feels sharper now, every sound too loud, every step too quick.

I thought I was past this. I thought I could keep the past buried. But now, all I can think about is how quickly everything can unravel, how one message can pull me right back to where I never wanted to be again.

I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off, to remind myself of everything that’s good, everything that’s new. Evie’s face flashes in my mind—her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her touch—and I cling to that image like a lifeline. I won’t let this ruin what I have now. I won’t let the ghosts of my past pull me under.

I keep walking, my steps quick and determined, focusing on the path ahead, on the present, on everything I’ve built here. I have no intention of looking back.

11

EVIE

The bookstore feels alive today, buzzing with an energy that always fills me up when I step inside. It’s a quiet hum, a kind of electricity that crackles in the air when I prepare for poetry night. As I flick on the lights, the warm glow spreads through the space, illuminating rows of books and the small stage in the corner. It isn’t much—just a wooden platform with a mic stand—but it’s the heart of this place, where voices find their wings.

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