The ride share pool at the West Garage was a slab of concrete and sunlight, bordered by yellow caution tape and a lineup of parked minivans that looked identical except for the accumulation of bumper stickers and dings. Kristy paused at the curb, her back to the flow of cars and her hands deep in the kangaroo pocket of the new hoodie. For the first time, she took off her sunglasses and turned to face him squarely. Her eyes were dark, ringed with the kind of fatigue he’d only ever seen in himself after an all-nighter or a string of impossible bugs.

  “Thanks for walking me,” she said, and the words sounded heavier than they should. “Seriously. I didn’t realize how much I needed… not to be alone right now.” She didn’t reach for a handshake, or a hug, or any of the sanctioned gestures. She just looked at him, open and unfiltered, and Theo had the sense that if he said the wrong thing she’d evaporate.

  He held the moment, unsure how to proceed, heart thumping in a way that felt more biological than emotional. “Anytime,” he said, which felt insufficient, so he added, “You want to stay out of sight for a while longer? We could hit another level of the parking structure. See if there’s a secret society up there or something.”

  The line was dumb, but it made her laugh—a real one, sharp and sudden.

  She angled her head, considering. “Tempting. I bet level six has excellent conspiracy theorists.” Then, with a tilt of her lips: “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  He held up both hands. “Too socially awkward. I’d never get away with it.”

  She smiled again, softer now, and the mood shifted from charged to gentle in the span of a heartbeat. Neither of them moved to end the conversation, even as the Uber icon on her phone spun closer to the curb.

  He felt the urge rise and just let it.

  “Hey,” he blurted, “can I buy you a coffee? For real this time. I’ll even let you spill it on me, tradition and all.”

  Kristy glanced at the to-go cup in his hand. “You already have coffee.”

  He tossed it into a nearby trash can, the motion as dramatic as he could muster. “Now I don’t.”

  That made her lose it. She covered her mouth, but the laugh got out anyway, and the rawness of it made Theo’s own face burn. He realized he was grinning like a fool, and for once, he didn’t care.

  She stared at him, long enough that he wondered if she was memorizing his face or just waiting to see if he’d keep being an idiot. Then she dug out her phone, tapped at the screen, and handed it over without a word.

  He punched in his number, tried to think of something witty to save himself in her contacts, and settled for “Theo (Not a Serial Killer).” He passed the phone back.

  She checked the entry, rolled her eyes, and said, “I’ll text you.”

  Kristy turned toward the Uber line, hood still up, her steps light but unhurried. Theo watched her turn towards the silver Prius, the sound of her laugh still echoing faintly in his head, softer now, like a note fading into silence. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a polite brush-off, maybe—but instead there was a phone number in her hand and a small, dangerous feeling in his chest that something had just shifted.

  Then she shut the door, apologized to the driver, and said, “So…where’s coffee?”