Page 38 of Red Flags Only

“Hey, Ly!” Vivian Rosinheld, a willowy red-head who was two years ahead of us in school, greets from behind the counter as we approach, smiling huge at my date. “Hello-” she chokes as her eyes hit me, looming behind Lyra. “Jove!” she squeaks.

“Hi, Vivi,” Lyra greets, then stops, turning abruptly toward me, hand slamming over my mouth as it opens to return my own greeting. “Before you talk,” she whispers, putting her body directly between mine and Vivian’s. “Has she ever done anything that negatively impacted Mars?”

My head shakes under her hand in a negative, and she removes it.

“Just checking,” she mutters. “Carry on.”

I do, bidding hello to a shell-shocked Vivian and starting our order. I have to repeat it twice before Vivian pulls herself together enough to input it into the system, twisting her pad around for me to choose a tip option.

Five hundred seems appropriate.

“I must have mentioned this place more than I thought,” Lyra comments while Vivian gets to work prepping our tarts and teas. “For you to know exactly what I want like that.”

“Once or twice.” Or every single letter for an entire year after the grand opening, but who’s counting. “I also have Brian’s order memorized.”

She blushes, looking away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Uh huh. I’m so sure.

“You did fail to mention where you like to sit,” I say, looking around at the sparse options. “By the window or by the toilet?” A guess I could surely not make.

She rolls her eyes, and we sit by the window.

Which is great. Until she realizes everyone outside can see us.

“Oh, goodness,” she mumbles, head ducking after Old Man Norman nearly crashes his car trying to stick his head out the window for a double take. Lester Halloway runs into a street light while walking her cat in an attempt to act casual as she breaks her neck for a look. George Lore, whoworks at the community theater, desperately needs to work on his acting if the way he’s been tying his shoe while sneaking peeks for the last five minutes is anything to go by. His shoe isn’t even untied.

“Your tarts!” Vivian chirps, setting our plates in front of us. “And tea!”

“Thanks,” Lyra whispers, hunching into herself.

“Thanks,” I echo, glaring out the window. George pales, then shoots up, scuttling away. Lester jolts, following him.

Idiots.

“It’s fine,” Lyra says, about as convincing as a death row inmate declaring their innocence. “It’s not because I’m with you. I mean. That’s why they’re looking, of course, but that’s not why I’m… It’s just the attention, you know? It makes me nervous. I feel like I’m standing on a stage when all I’m actually doing is getting dinner with my friend. Well, boyfriend, I guess. To-may-to to-mah-to at this point.” Her hand waves as my heart rate increases.

Boyfriend.

She called me her boyfriend.

That’s… that’s book fodderfor sure.

“My point is,” she continues. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not used to being so noticed, you know?”

I nod, even though I distinctly do not know. I’m a tall guy. My shoulders span an ocean, practically. I’ve nevernotbeen noticed.

Lyra, though, has spent her entire life learning how not to be noticed. Her mother had a baby she didn’t want, then treated that baby like a burden until she believed she was one, then she spent every moment after that point reinforcing it, digging terrible thoughts into the soil of Lyra’s mind, which grew more weeds that other people, like Chrissy, watered.

My jaw clenches, and I move us to other subjects, lest I stand, exit the building, and commit a great many crimes against my date’s – mygirlfriend’s– mother.

Murder comes to mind.

“Would you like a distraction?” I ask. “Perhaps an expertly crafted contract we could read, discuss, and dissect at length?”

Her shoulders relax, and she straightens in her seat. “Right,” she says. “Sorry. I forgot we’re here for a reason.” She reaches into her dress pocket, pulling out her phone, house keys, chapstick, some sort of makeup stick, a tiny pack of tissues, and, finally, the contract.

“Do you have a void bag in there?” I ask. Not even my pockets are that deep.

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