“You are half-standing.”
“I’m artistically leaning.”
“Evie.”
The way he says my name makes my pulse misbehave.
Darlene notices because of course she does. Her gaze flicks from me to Kauss and back again, sharp as a needle. She says nothing aloud, which means I am doomed later.
Kauss sits reluctantly. I push the plate closer.
“Eat,” I say.
He obeys, though he gives me a look suggesting this is not surrender but tactical delay. I stay near the counter, taking orders from my stool and letting Darlene do the running because I am not completely suicidal. Every so often, I glance at him. He eats slowly, carefully, savoring despite trying not to show it. He wipes his mouth with a napkin instead of his sleeve. He thanks me again when I refill his coffee. He keeps his shoulders angled so he takes up less space, though that is physically impossible in any meaningful way.
People start relaxing around him in increments. A dockworker asks if the stool is holding up. Kauss says, “For now,” and the man laughs nervously. Mr. Eddison raises his cup in silent thanks, and Kauss gives a single small nod. The little girlby the window peeks at him again, and Kauss looks away first so she does not feel caught staring.
Every careful choice undoes another stitch in my common sense.
When the lunch rush finally thins, Kauss stands.
My heart sinks before I can scold it for being dramatic.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You could stay for lunch. Actual lunch. That was breakfast pretending to be diplomacy.”
“I should go.”
“Should is a slippery word.”
“It is a necessary one.”
I want to ask where he goes. I want to ask if he has somewhere dry, somewhere safe, somewhere he can sleep without one eye open. I do not because his face has already started closing, and if I push too hard, he will vanish behind the walls he clearly knows how to build.
So I say, “Come back tomorrow.”
He looks at me.
I lift my chin. “Same deal. Food for security services rendered.”
“I did not agree to work for you.”
“No, but apparently you patrol my back door and correct Darlene’s fire safety habits, so we might as well formalize the arrangement.”
“I cannot.”
“Cannot or will not?”
His silence answers without helping.
I soften my voice. “Kauss, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You don’t have to explain yourself. You can sit in the corner and brood into coffee. We have room for that here.”
“Brood?”
“It means scowl with emotional atmosphere.”
