Her smile faltered, just a little, the teasing giving way to something heavier.
“Drew…” she said quietly.
And there it was. The warning. The line she’d drawn and redrawn a hundred times between us.
I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets. “Relax. This isn’t a romantic gesture.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, taking another sip.
“It’s not,” I insisted. “This is strictly… friendship maintenance. You know, since you’re leaving tonight and probably won’t speak to me for six months.”
Her lips quirked. “You make it sound like we’re divorcing.”
“Feels like it.”
She blinked, caught off guard by my honesty.
I exhaled, trying to lighten it again. “Anyway, it’s just coffee. Platonic. Totally nonthreatening.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“Maybe I am,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her expression softened, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The world outside was quiet except for the faint hum of a snowblower somewhere down the street. The cold air drifted between us, carrying the smell of coffee and winter and something that felt like goodbye.
“So,” she said finally, her voice careful. “Is this what you do? Bring coffee to all the women you’re… platonically not interested in?”
“Only the ones I can’t stop thinking about,” I said, then immediately winced. “Kidding. Mostly.”
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed, and that was enough to make my pulse stumble again.
“Drew,” she said softly. “You don’t make this easy.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
Her hand tightened around the cup. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes it harder to leave.”
The words hit harder than I expected. I tried to find something clever to say, something to make her smile again, but nothing came out.
So instead, I said the only thing that felt true. “Then maybe don’t.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, full of conflict and something dangerously close to longing. “You know I can’t stay.”
“Yeah,” I said, my throat tight. “I know.”
The silence that followed felt fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it completely.
She looked away first, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should go before this coffee becomes… more than coffee.”
I tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Liar.”
“Occupational hazard,” I said, stepping back.
