Not jealousy.
Not judgment.
Just the realization that they talked about love like conquest—and control like safety.
Sage checked her watch.
“Sorry,” she said, already sliding off her stool. “Work thing. I’ll be right back.”
She was gone longer than necessary.
When she came back, she slipped into her seat like nothing had happened. Took a sip of her drink. Picked up mid-sentence.
A few minutes later, she checked her watch again.
“Seriously,” she muttered. “Lawyers.”
She leaned in, kissed my cheek, and disappeared out the front door.
This time, when she didn’t come back right away, I followed.
She was half a block down, standing by a payphone wedged between a closed dry cleaner and a pizza place. A handful of quarters rested in her palm.
She didn’t see me.
She dropped one into the slot, lifted the receiver, and dialed quickly—no hesitation, no checking the number. Her body angled slightly away, shoulder shielding the keypad.
I couldn’t hear what she said. Only the rhythm of it.
A pause.
A few more buttons.
Another pause.
She exhaled through her nose, impatient.
Then she hung up and stood there for a beat, staring at the dark glass of the booth like she was listening for something else.
When she turned and saw me, she laughed easily.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I didn’t even realize how far I wandered. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything alright?”
“Fine,” she said. Same word. Same tone. “Just checking work messages.”
Back inside, the bar was louder. More crowded. She ordered another round.
Once I’d noticed it, I couldn’t un-notice it.
An hour later, she did it again.
Different payphone. Same routine.
Quarters. Receiver. Fast dialing. Her back turned just enough.
When she came back, she was brighter than before—laughing harder, talking faster, her knee bouncing under the table.
