“On the house because it’s been a while since I’ve seen you here,” he says, pressing the coffee into my hands. “Take a seat; take your time browsing. We just got a ton of new additions to the romance section.” He gestures toward the shelf I’m standing in front of with obvious pride. “I’m completely addicted to romance novels. My husband—Mark?—he’s all sci-fi. Spaceships and aliens and whatever. But me? Give me a good love story any day.”
I accept the coffee gratefully, and the warmth seeps into my palms. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You came for their party, right?”
I nod.
“Your parents talk about you all the time. We’re glad you’re home.” He pats my shoulder once, then heads back toward the counter, leaving me with the coffee and an unexpected lump in my throat.
The mention of the party makes me think about the recording. About what I would say to my parents if I actually tried.
“Hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I turn. Kai stands a few feet away holding a coffee in a takeout cup. He’s wearing a soft blue sweater and jeans that hug his long legs perfectly. Our eyes meet for a moment, and his smile is so warm and genuine, my heartbeat forgets its lines.
“I needed to get out of the house,” I say. “Thought I’d grab a coffee.”
“Mind if I join you?”
We move to a small table by the window. Sunlight streams across the surface, highlighting the steam rising from my coffee.
Kai admires the book on top of my small pile.
“That’s a good one. Have you read it?”
“Just picked it up. Trying to choose one.”
We start talking about books. I’m surprised by how much we have in common. We both love literary fiction with real emotional weight and gay romance. I guess that answers the question about whether he’s into men.
I mean, he could still be straight, but someone who reads gay romance wouldn’t punch me if I hit on him, right? Not that I’d do that, of course. Because of … reasons. Mostly proving Jordan right.
For the second time since I left Denver, I find myself relaxing. Kai is easy to talk to. He’s a great listener, like everything I say is important. He asks questions that show he’s actually thinking about what I’m saying, not just waiting for his turn to talk.
After about twenty minutes of book talk, Kai asks, “Have you given any more thought to recording a message for your parents?”
I set my coffee down carefully. “Yeah, I have. But I’m not sure what to say without blurting out my problems. And I don’t want to lie on record.”
“Those are the only two options?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What else is there?”
“You could just … be honest. About what you’re grateful for. About what they mean to you. You don’t have to tell them everything, but you can tell them the truth about how you feel.” He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “I know it’s not my place to push. But I think you’d feel better if you recorded a message from the heart.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It is. But it’s also powerful.”
The way he says it makes me believe it. Like he knows from experience. Like he’s stood in the same place I’m standing now and found his way through.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and I mean it.
Kai checks his phone, then looks back at me. His expression makes my pulse quicken.
“I’ve got a bunch of recordings I need to sort through for the archive. Organize them, add metadata—that kind of thing. It’s tedious work, but it needs to be done.” He pauses. “I don’t suppose you’d want to help? I could use another set of hands. And you might find it interesting—hearing the community’s stories.”
I think about Jordan’s texts. About wasted opportunities. About the way Kai’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and his hands move when he talks about his work—with passion, with care. The way he’s looking at me right now—like he’s interested. Like he’s been interested since last night.
I think about my parents’ sad eyes at breakfast, the way Denver is falling apart, and my fear of reaching for the real thing.
