His expression shifted slightly. Not pain exactly. More like a careful recalibration.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “My feelings about him are… complicated.”
“I get that.” I hesitated, then added, “I don’t speak to my parents anymore. It wasn’t a healthy relationship.”
He didn’t ask why. Didn’t push. Just nodded once, slowly and deliberately, taking me at my word.
“I’m sorry.” Somehow, he made it sound like he meant it without expecting anything in return.
My heart tugged a little. Just a fraction.
We shared a quiet look across the table, mutual understanding without excavation. Boundaries intact. No pressure. No prying. It felt… safe.
Halfway through the meal, I excused myself to the restroom.
The hallway to the restrooms branched off from the back of the dining room. It was dimly lit and narrow. Instead of being intimate, which I’m sure the café was going for, it just meant that two people couldn’t pass each other without bumping elbows.
Cozy. Too cozy, because as I passed the man leaning against the wall, he looked me up and down with slow, tacky enthusiasm.
He smirked. “I like watching you walk. Wonder what that ass would look like bouncing on top of me?”
There it was. The second bad thing today. My brain cataloged it with bleak efficiency. Alley kidnapping. Van. Chair. A gross man in a hallway. One of these things was exceptionally traumatic. The other was… a Tuesday. My body reacted the same way anyway—it froze.
This was the part people never understood. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to say. It was that my system shut down to keep me safe because years of this had taught me that escalation made things worse and politeness sometimes kept you alive.
I opened my mouth—no words came out. Behind me, the door to the dining room opened again. Voices and the sound of clinking dishes spilled briefly into the hallway.
A shadow followed the sound.
Arthur stepped between us with quiet, deadly purpose. His presence alone forced the man back a step. I wasn’t sure how he’d known to come looking for me, or maybe he’d decided on a bathroom break as well.
Arthur didn’t puff up or raise his voice. He didn’t even touch the guy. He simply occupied the space like it belonged to him now. Like there were rules here and the man had just broken them. I had the strangest, sharpest thought:he does not like this—not even a little.
“You owe her an apology,” Arthur said, his voice as hard as stone. “And then you need to leave this place while you still have legs to walk on.”
The man’s smirk disintegrated. He muttered something, stumbling away so quickly I thought he might actually trip over his own regret.
Arthur didn’t watch him go. He focused on me. “Are you all right?”
My throat bobbed as I swallowed hard. “Y-yes. I just… need a moment.”
That was the lie I always used.Need a moment. Notneed the world to stop being like this. Just a moment. A moment was manageable.
He nodded once, giving me space instead of hovering.
I slipped into the bathroom and braced my palms against the sink. My breathing felt too big for the small room, too sharp. Not fear, but the crashing wave that came after it.
But beneath it all was a warmth. A steady, reassuring warmth.
Arthur had stepped in immediately. Not possessively. Not to show off. But to protect me.
And it wasn’t just that.Everyinteraction with this man felt so natural, as if we shared a connection. It was perplexing. Exhilarating.
I splashed water on my cheeks, inhaled, exhaled, and told myself I could behave normally for the remainder of lunch.
Probably.
A few breaths later, I felt myself settle back into my body, enough to return to him without shaking apart.
