Page 55 of Problematic

I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets. The whole thing still sat weird in my ribs. The word she’d used.

Culled.

My throat tightened a little.

Which was stupid. I forced a shrug and kicked a pebble down the sidewalk. “Anyway,” I said. “Thanks for the escort, big, scary barista. Very heroic.”

“You’re welcome.”

He said it so flatly I snorted.

That was the thing about Kalon. He didn’t make me feel like the ground had split open under my feet. He was steady. Solid. The kind of demon a girl with common sense would choose if she wanted to sleep through the night without wondering whether someone had left a flower or a body on her doorstep.

Normal.

I should want that.

I did want it.

Sort of.

Enough that the thought made me feel clean and sensible, like I had chosen water over liquor or paid a bill early.

Then the left side of my neck burned, and my mind served up a black mask, a red rose, a voice in the dark calling me Little Flower.

I grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet automatically.

“Coffee?”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“You closed a coffee shop twenty minutes ago.”

“I said coffee,” I said. “Not good coffee.”

That earned an actual laugh.

The routine helped settle the leftover tension buzzing under my skin. Mug. Spoon. Cheap grounds. Water. The normal little ceremony of making something bitter enough to bully exhaustion into submission.

Kalon took the mug when I handed it to him, our fingers brushing for a second before I stepped back toward the couch.

He stayed standing. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I mean,” I said, dropping onto the couch and pulling my knees up under me, “someone did publicly debate whether I should exist today.”

“Not the best customer experience.”

“Two stars,” I agreed.

He finally moved closer, lowering himself onto the edge of the couch beside me, which was a mistake. Because sitting next to him made the size difference extremely obvious. The couch dipped under his weight. My brain noticed things it absolutely did not need to notice. Like how warm he felt next to me. Or how easy it would be to lean a little closer. How simple it would be.

No mask or secret notes from an unknown man in the dark turning my fear into something my body kept deliberately misunderstanding.

Kalon was right there. I blew out a breath and rubbed my face. “Stop doing that,” I muttered.

“Doing what?”

“Hovering like a concerned parent.”