“You always think that,” Tessa says, not unkindly. “That everyone just needs someone to listen.”
“Most people do.”
Marcy finally looks up from the register, one brow raised. “And what about you? Who listens to you?”
I shrug, folding the towel neatly. “You guys. My family. It’s not like I’m out here suffering in silence.”
Tessa studies me for a second, her expression softening just a little. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I smile at her, easy, reassuring. “I’m good. I promise.”
It’s the truth,mostly.
There was a time when it wasn’t. When listening to people meant giving them more than they gave back. When I mistook attention for care and ended up with both hands empty more often than not. I learned. Not to shut down. Not to harden.
Just…to choose better.
To notice the difference between someone who needs and someone who takes. That’s the thing about working here. You see people. Really see them. You learn tone, expression, the way someone’s shoulders sit when they’re tired or the way their voice shifts when they’re lying to themselves. You learn without trying.
“Earth to Olivia,” Tessa says, snapping her fingers once.
I blink and look back at her. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’re coming out with us Friday.”
“Oh.” I lean back against my station, thinking. “Where are you going?”
“Some bar Marcy’s friend recommended. Apparently the drinks are strong and the men are questionable.”
Marcy snorts. “That’s every bar.”
“Yeah, but this one’s supposed to be fun questionable, not ‘you might need to call the police’ questionable.”
“High standards,” I say.
“Always.”
I hesitate for a second, then nod. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come.”
Tessa grins like she’s just won something. “Knew it.”
“Don’t make it a whole thing,” I warn.
“It’s already a whole thing.”
“Of course it is.”
Marcy closes out the register with a final click and starts stacking the receipts. “You two done flirting with your social lives? Because I would like to go home at some point tonight.”
“We’re done,” I say, grabbing my bag from under the counter.
“Speak for yourself,” Tessa mutters, but she’s already moving toward the back to grab her coat.
We fall into the routine without thinking about it. Lights off in sections, stations checked, doors locked. Marcy flips the sign at the front from OPEN to CLOSED, and the shift in the room is immediate. Final. Done.
“Text me when you get home,” Tessa says as she pulls on her coat.
“I always do.”
