“You’re saying I look like a man raised on caffeine and bad decisions?”
“I’m sayingyou are one.”
I laugh and pour over another cabinet. A single dented pan and a bag of oats. “See? Prepared.”
She shakes her head, amused. “You figure out your options. I’m going to see if you have toothpaste to at leastrubon my teeth. I wasn’t exactly planning to spend the night.” Then heads off to the bathroom.
“So,” I yell, “update from the field, we might have to forage in the woods. Maybe hunt berries or barter with squirrels.”
She comes back a few minutes later, cheeks pink from the cold water, hair brushed smooth. There’s toothpaste on her wrist and thatglow people get when they manage to make chaos look graceful. Before I can say anything, my phone buzzes. I flip it over, Rithy.
Nice lighting for a future breakup song, lover. Tell your “photographer” they’ve got talent.
I sigh and pocket the phone. “Waffle House it is, I lack the enthusiasm required for foraging.”
She grins, leaning on the counter. “We really need coffee.”
“You lookway too goodfor someone who justbrushed her teethwith herfinger.”
“Skills!” she says.
Chapter 43
A School Night
Rafe
The road out of the woods is slick from last night’s rain, sunlight flashing between the trees. Kasia’s arms are wrapped tight around me, her chin tucked near my shoulder, the world a blur of wind and asphalt. When we pull into the parking lot, the sign for the Waffle House buzzes faintly, half the letters dead. The smell of syrup and oil hits even through the helmet. I kill the engine and we sit there for a second, the silence ringing in our ears.
She taps my shoulder. “What’s the strategy? I could go in and get it to go. Or… we could just risk it.” She looks toward the windows, mostly locals, a few families, one group of alt kids who look like they’ve been up all night gaming or writing manifestos. “Doesn’t seem like your usual crowd.”
I take a long breath. “You’re probably right. They’re either too tired or caffeinated to care. Let’s go.”
We head inside. The lights are bright, the air thick with crackle of food frying and chatter. The hostess doesn’t look twice at us. I exhale as we slide into a booth in the far corner. It’s almost normal, her across from me, tracing the laminated menu, the hiss of the griddle in the background. She looks up, smirking.
“You realize you just risked any remaining anonymity for hash browns.”
“Some things are worth it.”
For a while, it’s easy. Coffee arrives, we order enough food for an army, and my focus takes in all the small things like her laughter and the sound of plates clattering behind the counter. Then Ifeelit. Theprickleon the back of my neck. At a table near, the group of teenagers have started whispering, looking in our direction. Hoodies, chipped black nail polish, eyeliner smudged from lack of sleep. My demographic, once upon a time. Kasia notices, following my glance.
“They know?”
“I think so,” I murmur. “Or maybe they’re just debating whether I look like a man who peaked in 2019?”
One of the girls finally stands up, napkin and pen clutched in hand. She hesitates, heart visibly pounding, then walks over to our booth.
“Um… excuse me?” she says. “I’m sorry if this is weird, but… are you—?”
I pull my sunglasses down just enough for her to see my eyes to confirm. Her jaw drops. “Oh my god. Obelus.It’s you.”
I smile, keeping my voice low. “It's me.”
She’s trembling. “I knew it. My friend said it couldn’t be, but I said, no he’d totally eat at a Waffle House, you'reso reallike that. You’re… wow. I just—thank you. Your songs helped me so much.”
The word is like an arrow to my heart.Helped.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
