James steps back, his smile never wavering. “Of course. Family’s important.”
It’s not Troy.
Space boy
Driving by Luzia. Need a ride home?
Yes please
Done in 20
“Everything okay?” James asks.
“Yeah, just my ride checking in.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “I could’ve driven you home. You know I’m always happy to help out. You live in town, right? Whereabouts?”
“Thanks, but my friend’s already on his way.” I ignore his other question.
“He?” James raises an eyebrow. “Thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“I’m not.” The words come out sharper and for somereason, I soften them and smile at James. “We just have this community service thing together.”
“Right.” James finally moves away, but his smile has an edge now. “Well, let’s finish closing up then. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
Twenty minutes later, I practically run outside, but Alfie isn’t in his car. He’s leaning against the hood, the picture of effortless wealth, hands tucked in the pockets of his dark jeans.
The streetlights throw sharp angles across his jaw, his lips pressed together in a way that makes my stomach dip. His hair is tousled just enough to look unintentional, but a strand falls over his eye, and he doesn’t push it back. He’s watching the entrance, steady, relaxed—but there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s been waiting. For me.
James follows me out, keys jingling as he locks up. “Have a good night, Tara.” His eyes flick to Alfie, assessing. “Drive safe.”
Something passes between them—some silent male communication I can’t decode. Alfie straightens to his full height, shoulders back. James holds his gaze for a moment before looking away first.
The tension crackles until James disappears around the corner to the staff parking lot.
“Who was that?” Alfie’s voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the edge underneath.
“James. My manager.” I try to sound casual, like I hadn’t spent the last hour with my stomach in knots every time he got too close.
Alfie’s jaw tightens further. “He always stay late with you?”
“Sometimes? It’s not—I mean, he’s just—” I stop, frustrated by my own inability to speak.
“Tara.” I look up. His eyes are dark, serious. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”
“No!” I say too quickly. Then, “He hasn’t actually done anything wrong.”
Something dangerous flashes across Alfie’s face, but he controls it quickly. “Right.” He pushes off the car, opening the passenger door for me. “Pancakes?”
“You don’t have to. Seriously, I’m fine.”
“I want to.” He cuts me off, then adds more softly, “Unless you’re too tired? I mean we have got dinner with my family Saturday night.”
I have 48 hours before that. I should be tired. Should want to go home. But the thought of being alone right now…no thanks.
“Pancakes sound perfect.”
We sit in silence for a while.
