Page 33 of The Run Back Home

But it dies just as fast when the doors start closing again.

And he doesn't rush to stop them.

"Bye, Lenny," he says evenly through the gap.

Then they slam shut.

And maybe that means more than it should.

"Okay, Max did not tell me the coffee here was this good." Bridget licks the drop of her latte that threatens to fall down the side of her mug.

"Yeah, me neither," I say, stirring the ice in my cold brew that's already half-melted. "Sadie did, thank God. She says her boss swears by it, and now I see why."

I make a mental note to thank my brother's wife for the recommendation—and her hockey coach of a boss who apparently runs on protein shakes and black Drippy's coffee throughout the Flames' season.

"Drippy's…" Bridget says the name of the coffee shop we're in like she's testing it on her tongue. "Weird name but… I'm kind of into it."

My sister takes a vested interest in her drink, swirling and sniffing it like it's a delicacy—and it kind of is. I, on the other hand, sit back in my seat, my eyes wandering the café like I'm taking in the décor—the red brick that runs from floor to ceiling in the back of the room. The chalkboard menu framed in stained oak wood, with coffees listed in all sorts of flavors from decaf to chocolate mocha fudge.

But really, I'm somewhere else entirely.

"Jace is here."

The words fall from my lips like they've been teetering there, just waiting for silence to give them somewhere to land.

Bridget doesn't respond right away—probably caught off guard by how casually I blurted them out. Like I simply announced that it was raining. Or because she was too busy scanning the pastry stands sitting on the dark granite coffee bar displaying every sweet from croissants to cupcakes.

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly as I look back her way. "That is what the big screen on the wall tells me whenever there's a Gators game on."

I tip my chin down, narrowing my eyes, and she shrugs like she's not sure why.

"No," I moan, rolling my eyes. "Well, yes. But not like that… I mean, he's here here."

She whips her head around, twisting and turning in her seat. "Like in Drippy's?"

"What? No. Bridge—" I groan. It's hard enough to say aloud, and now I have to spell it out. "Like in my neighborhood."

"I thought you lived in an apartment."

My eyes sink shut as I drop my head into my hands. "He lives in the building across from me."

I look up and she's staring, waiting for more.

"I've seen him. Twice."

Still trying to forget them both.

"Ohh," she drags out, her eyes wide. She thinks for a second, then her head snaps back. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah."

"Not ideal."

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Or…" She cocks a brow. "Or is it?"

I narrow my eyes. "No," I say sternly.