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I laugh. He smiles. A woman walks past the window with a Denmark flag draped over her shoulders. I love this city.
“Tomáš says you’ve been showing people around. The places they should go.”
“Tomáš exaggerates. I show them the Beltline. The Beltline does the rest.”
“You should show me.”
He says it fast. Not the way Damián says things. This came out unplanned, and I can see the moment he hears himself, the flicker crossing his face that he smooths over before it finishes arriving.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that. I know all the good spots.”
“Good.” He finishes his cortado. Stands. “I should get back. Recovery session this morning.”
“Of course.”
He hugs me again. Standing, by the table, his hand on the back of my neck one more time. Briefer than the first. The right length for two old friends saying goodbye after coffee. I tell myself this. I also notice his thumb moves once against my neck, just above the collar, before he lets go.
“It was good to see you, Tobík.”
“You too, Damián.”
He walks out into the heat. I sit at the table with my americano going cold and watch him through the window until he turns the corner. Jordan appears with a cloth.
“Friend of yours?”
“An old friend. Yes.”
“Cute old friend.”
“Yes.” Lying about Damián being beautiful would require a level of dishonesty my body has never managed.
Jordan grins down at me. “Regular has layers. Who knew?”
“I do not have layers. I have a friend who drinks cortados.”
“Uh huh.” She picks up his cup. “He sat here for ten minutes before you showed up, by the way. Stared at that door until you walked in.”
She walks back to the counter. I sit with that information.
He waited. He came early and he waited. He walked a kilometer and a half and sat at my coffee shop and said I didn’t know you came here. The lie was smooth.
I pick up my phone and open his contact, the number Tomáš gave me the other day. My thumbs hover over the keyboard and the sentence forms before I can stop it: Did you come here because of my posts? Did you come to my coffee shop because of me?
I stare at the words. I don’t hit send and instead delete the message.
The group chat has been going since nine. They’re arguing about the heroine in the book we’re all reading. She’s been keeping a secret from the hero for a hundred pages.
Marchetti
She needs to TELL HIM. It's been four chapters. He's standing RIGHT THERE.
Thompson
The secret is the structure. She can't tell him because telling him changes what they are.
Mueller
I don't understand why she doesn't just say it.
