Page 20 of Burning Hearts

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Ellis read the note, smile not appearing, but notnotappearing.

“Redeem together,” he said.

“That’s the rule.”

“Are you a rules person?” he asked, eyes back on the menu.

“Yes,” I said, and the word felt weighted.

Ellis nodded once. “Same.”

The line shuffled forward as an espresso machine hissed. A woman at a corner table said something admiring about Tansy’s flowers and something about admiring Tansy less.

The lobby held both comments with equal grace.

Ellis tapped the envelope with a finger. “We should do it when it won’t look like we’re… whatever Beau thinks we are.”

“Tonight?” I said. “After Beau’s Roast.”

“Seven?” he asked.

“Seven,” I said.

We moved another step. A pair of tourists debated grits as if they were picking a college for their child. My pocket felt lighter.

“Thanks for the strap work yesterday,” he said, still looking at the chalkboard drink specials.

“Thanks for counting. Your crew listens to you.”

“That’s the job,” he said.

I nodded. “Same.”

We didn’t talk about the token, or the intern bus, or the way a gust can introduce two people faster than a host ever could. We didn’t talk about straight, or not.

We kept it to coffee—the one thing between us with a clear label.

He took his to-go cup with a nod that meantI’ve got a day to run.

I took mine with a nod that meantMe too.

We split without calling it splitting.

On the way to the doors, Beau skated by, perfectly manicured as always.

“Tonight!” he said, as if he’d been listening without hearing. “Pitch & Play Roast! Don’t bring me a lecture, bring me a laugh.”

“Copy,” I said.

Ellis smiled and was gone into the morning.

I stood there longer than I should have, coffee warming my hand, envelope a cold edge against my hip, and decided thesafest thing I could do was the dangerous one: show up, at seven, for a dinner I didn’t need.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLIS

Peachtree Commons had already turneditself into a television set by the time I arrived.

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