It’s Coffee.

Just Coffee.

It’s not like I’m going to take her into the bathroom and Gilroy her, for fuck’s sake.

It’s probably what she expects.

Why she asked you out in the first place.

You really think she’s interested in having a conversation with you?

You’re pretty dumb for a genius.

Shit.

One cup.

I’ll stay for one cup and then I’ll tell her I have to go. If she asks me out again, I’ll tell her no. That I have—

“Am I late?”

I look up from the worn paperback in my hand to find Kaitlyn standing over me. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a blood-red sweater that clings and coasts over every curve. Her dark hair is loose around her face. Her eyes are bright. She’s cute and happy to see me.

And I feel like I want to chew my goddamned arm off to get away from her.

“No.” I shake my head, tucking the same scrap of paper I’ve been using as a book mark for the last eight years between the pages of my book. “I’m early.”

Tell her. Tell her you’re early because you left while Tess was on a parts run because you didn’t want to answer questions about where you were going in the middle of the day and why you had to take a shower to do it.

“A guy who’s early.” She smiles at me while she shrugs out of her coat. “That’s a novelty.”

“Well, I’m either twenty minutes early or three hours late,” I tell her, standing up to pull out her chair for her. “There is no in between.”

She grins up at me while I push in her chair. “Consider me warned for next time.”

Next time.

Jesus Christ.

She thinks there’s going to be a next time.

“What can I get you?” I gesture to the coffee counter where a team of green-aproned baristas are steaming milk and brewing espresso like their lives depends on it. She suggested Benny’s but there’ no way I’m doing this in a place where I might actually run into someone I know. Better to humiliate myself in front of strangers.

“Oh,” she looks at my cup on the table in front of her and shrugs. “Whatever you’re having is fine—and a cranberry orange muffin.” She smiles and unwinds her scarf. “We can split it.”

Black coffee.

I can do that.

Muffin splitting isn’t part of the plan.

It’s a fucking muffin, not a marriage proposal.

“Be right back,” I tell her before frog marching myself to the counter. A few minutes later, I make my way back to our table, doing a balancing act with her coffee and pastry to find her reading the back of my book.

I’m barely able to curb the urge to drop everything in my hands and snatch it away from her.

When I set her order in front of her she looks up at me. “I hope you don’t mind I’m checking out your book.”

I do mind.

Because for eight years, Henley and I are the only people who’ve touched it. The only people who’ve read it. That made it ours.

And now it’s not.

She turns it over in her hands and flips through a few pages. “It was on one of my college reading lists, but I never got around to it—what’s this?” she says, her finger pointing to the inscription I wrote in it years again. When she sees Henley’s name, she looks up at me. Whatever she sees on my face has her closing the book and sliding it across the table toward me. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, dragging the book toward me to study its worn cover. “I’m just…” Whatever I’m about to say dies before I can push it out.

I’m just what?

Not built for human connection.

Too fucked-up to have coffee with a woman without worrying about what she expects from me.

In love with someone who’s never going to love me back.

Not the way I need her to.

Kaitlyn’s hand reaches out and covers mine before I have a chance to pull away. “You’re just what, Conner?” Her voice is gentle, like she knows what I’m about to say and wants to make it easy on me.

“I’m just not ready.” I slide my hand out from under hers, taking my book with it. “I want to be. I want to be able to sit here and split a muffin with you and talk about Gatsby, but I can’t because I’m pretty fucked-up.” I stand, tucking my book into my pocket before shrugging into my jacket. “And I think I’m going to stay fucked-up for a long time, so it’s probably best that we chalk this up to an experiment gone wrong and call it quits.”

“Wait.” Her hand comes up again, connecting with the sleeve of my jacket. “We don’t have to talk about Gatsby.” She gives my sleeve a tug and for some inexplicable reason, I let her pull me back into my seat. “We don’t have to talk at all.” She lets go of my sleeve and reaches for her coffee and takes a sip. “I can drink my coffee and you can read your book and we can totally ignore each other.”

“That’s not much of a date.” Even I know that.

She laughs like I made some sort of joke instead of stating the obvious.

“But we have to split the muffin,” she says. “That part is non-negotiable.” Picking up the muffin, she breaks it in half to offer me my share.

I hesitate, but only for a second, before I take it.