Page 97 of The Prime-Time Experiment

“You didn’t even notice me walk in.”

“I did,” Riley replied. “I chose not to acknowledge it.”

Dee huffed a laugh. “Uh huh, whatever you say, babe.” She set her bag down and studied Riley for a moment before reaching for her coffee. “How’s the break going?”

Riley considered the question carefully. “I am not optimising it effectively.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

Riley looked down at the mug in front of her, her fingers shifting slightly against the warm ceramic. “I am... existing within it.”

It was the closest approximation she could find.

Her days no longer reduced neatly into tasks and outcomes. There was no measurable progression, no framework she could apply to determine whether the break was working. Entire afternoons passed without producing anything tangible, leaving her alone with thoughts she had been attempting not to examine.

Those thoughts had proven remarkably persistent. Across from her, Dee’s expression softened. “That’s amazing, Riley.”

Riley nodded. She wasn’t entirely convinced. Part of her recognised that something had changed. She could sit here now without actively filtering every conversation around her. She could tolerate unpredictability for longer periods of time. She had started coming here alone and, more significantly, had continued doing so.

That suggested adaptation. Whether it suggested stability was another question entirely. There was a brief pause before Dee spoke again. “Declan came by.”

Riley went still, her grip tightening fractionally around her mug. “When?”

“A few hours ago.” Something tightened in her chest. He had gone to the apartment, that had not been part of the plan.

“He asked for you,” Dee continued. “I told him you weren’t there.”

“He cannot go there.” The words left her more sharply than intended.

Dee leaned back slightly. “He didn’t come inside.”

Riley looked away. The café suddenly felt louder than it had a moment ago. “I cannot see him.”

The statement sounded more definitive spoken aloud than it felt internally. Dee was quiet for a moment, then she said gently, “He’s gone, Riles.”

Riley froze. Riles. The sound arrived before she could stop it, before she could prepare for it. For a moment, all she could hear was his voice.

Riles. The familiarity of it settled somewhere unexpectedly deep, pulling against something she had spent two weeks trying not to look at directly. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block out his voice. Across the table, Dee’s expression shifted immediately.

“Hey.”

Riley blinked. The café came back into focus gradually. The conversation, the people around them, the street beyond the window.

“That is not...” she began.

The sentence dissolved before it reached completion. Because the problem wasn’t the name. The problem was how much she missed hearing it too much.

“I do not prefer that form of address,” she said finally.

Even as she said it, she knew the statement was incomplete. Dee seemed to know it too, but she only nodded.

“Okay. I won’t use it.”

Riley nodded back. The feeling remained anyway.

❈

By the time they left the café, it was quieter but no less present, lingering beneath everything else while her thoughts continued to circle the same conclusion from different angles.