Page 133 of Blades Out
I stepped toward him.
A group of fans pushed through the door, laughing and loud, forming an instant line.
Ben glanced up, caught my eye, smiled. "I've got register. Can you handle espresso?"
"Yeah. Sure."
The moment passed.
I tried again during the mid-rush lull. Ben wiped down the pastry case. I opened my mouth?—
"Excuse me, is this almond milk?" A woman held up her latte, suspicious.
"Yes, ma'am."
"It doesn't taste like almond milk."
By the time I remade her drink and apologized twice, Ben had moved to the storage room.
My anxiety climbed higher with every missed opportunity. Every second that passed felt like a lie building between us. He didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve to be blindsided.
I just needed five minutes.
God wasn't giving me five minutes.
The rush finally eased enough that I could breathe.
I found Ben near the supply closet, restocking napkin dispensers with methodical precision. My heart hammered against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
"Can we talk?"
He glanced up, eyes bright with the same easy warmth he always carried. "Sure. What's up?"
"Maybe somewhere quieter?"
Something in my tone made his smile falter. He set down the stack of napkins and followed me into the hallway behind the concessions area—a narrow corridor lit by flickering fluorescents, empty except for stacked chairs and the distant hum of freezers.
I turned to face him, words dying on my tongue. He deserved better than this. Better than me fumbling through an explanation I couldn't give without hurting him.
"I really appreciated the date," I started, voice softer than I meant. "You chose a great place. And you were—you've been really kind to me since I started here."
Ben's expression shifted. Not quite guarded, but preparing.
I forced myself to continue. "But I'm… not interested romantically. And I should have said something sooner. Before we went out. It wasn't fair to you."
Silence stretched between us.
He nodded slowly—tight, controlled. The kind of nod that didn't match the tension pulling at his jaw.
"Right. Sure." His voice came out flat. "You're just… not interested."
"Ben—"
His eyes traveled over me once. Not the way he'd looked at me before—not admiring or sweet or hopeful. This was different. Assessing. Calculating. Finding something that made his mouth twist.
Then he scoffed.
The sound hit like a slap.
