Page 45 of Unsteady

“I’m not really the go and get coffee girl… honestly, not really the get anything together kind of girl. And definitely not the girl to date someone like you.”

I smile, completely forced and fake, somehow accepting the absolute kick to the gut her response is. My mouth starts to open, to beg her not to say anything else, but she keeps going.

“Tonight was—”

A groan etches from me, my hands covering my face as I beg, “Please don’t say good, I don’t think I can handle that again.”

She laughs lightly, stepping down to my level.

“Alright, duly noted,” she says, reaching her hand into my pocket and grabbing my phone. She doesn’t ask, or say anything, but turns it to my face to unlock it, texting herself the most recently used emoji, which is, unfortunately, a hockey stick. Her eyes dart to mine with a quick eye roll as if to saytypical.

“What’s that for?” I ask, taking my phone back from her outstretched hand. We’ve spent over a month together, but never crossed the line to communicating outside of the rink.

I don’t want to get my hopes up.

She takes two steps up the short staircase before turning to look at me and shrugging.

“I don’t know yet. Have a goodnight, hotshot.”

I can’t help the small smile that appears. Despite everything else, I now have something of hers.

“Goodnight,kotyonok.”

FOURTEEN

SADIE

Taking on the early shift at the cafe is always a gamble, especially a week before school starts. With everyone returning to campus, it’s hit or miss how busy five-to-nine mornings will be.

Thankfully—for my slight headache and the pinch of anxiety at the top of my spine—this morning is a slow one. I had a few regulars, the summer crowd of town locals that will make themselves scarce again once the semester fills the warm brown paneled walls with drowsy students as the morning hotspot.

Since it’s hitting half past ten now, I start another roast of the new, but popular, Ethiopian blend, dumping one of the bags into the grinder while I have an empty moment at the register.

“Here,” Luis, our main—and really, only—chef, calls from the slot of the kitchen window. He sets a plate of crunchy avocado toast with two poached eggs and extra chili flakes, a drizzle of honey in the shape of a heart that Iknowwill be spicy when it hits my tongue. As if on cue, my stomach growls and I offer him a big smile.

“Thank you,” I say as emphatically as I can, because I’m starving to the point I’m almost dizzy. My hair is a mess of semi-straight tangles and I’ve lost my trusty wrist elastic, so I can only tuck both sides behind my ears and hike my shoulders up to keep my hair from interrupting my meal.

He smirks and leans on his forearms through the window while I sit on the countertop to easily balance my plate in my lap and eat, while still having a view of the entire cafe.

George, a local writer, sips his coffee that I know has gone cold by now, while a trio— parents and a freshman girl—enjoy a full spread because the mom was too excited about moving her daughter into her alma mater not to order everything on the menu to sample. Only one table has emptied in the last few minutes, the tabletop scattered with a blueberry dotted ceramic mug and a few empty sugar packets.

“I was planning on trying my cilbir recipe on Rora.”

I smile, swallowing down another too-big bite of messy toast. “She’ll love that; especially knowing she doesn’t have to fly all the way to her mom to get good Turkish food.”

Luis nods again, wiping down the steel top of the window again. I’m quite sure he has a slight crush on Aurora, but he’s gentle about it. If Rora knew, even for a moment, that he felt that way for her, she’d probably never show up for work again; not because of him, or even really the fact that he’s a love-struck high schooler, but because for all of her sunshine personality, she is suddenly a clam when it comes to relationships.

The girl could read chapter-long filthy sex scenes without a flinch, but tell her a boy thinks she’s pretty and she turns into a tomato.

The chime of the door sounds just as I stuff the last bite of my toast into my mouth, sliding the plate into Luis’s outstretched calloused hand. My gaze flickers over to the two patrons now at the cash register while my stomach takes a churning free dive off a cliff somewhere.

Ofcourseit’s him.

Of course it’s Rhys, looking like a goddamn wet dream in gray sweatpants and a navy Dri-Fit long sleeve that hugs every single inch of his tight upper body. His smile is soft and a little sleepy as he continues to speak to his very large friend waiting patiently at the counter. His hair looks damp, like he popped out of the shower just before this—which is a dangerous thought because now I’m picturing him beneath the spray of some high-end rain shower, washing his abs and thick thighs.

My eyes trail down him again, before someone clears their throat and I start choking on the bite I didn’t even chew, too struck by the absolute karmic punch that seeing him is.

He’s looking at me now, his eyes like burning fires that scald my skin as I gulp down water and hop from the counter.

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