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Their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second, and Hakeem’s body reacted with immediate, traitorous alertness. Not dramatic enough to be visible, hopefully, but enough to make him angry at his own wiring.

Antonio had to know he was attractive. That was the only fair explanation. A man did not walk around looking like this and speaking in that voice and then act innocent when people developed problems.

“Thank you,” Hakeem said, because he had been raised with manners, unfortunately.

Antonio inclined his head once and took his own coffee toward the table.

Hakeem watched him go, then looked down into the mug like it might offer him guidance.

It did not.

By the time he got to The Last Cue that evening, the whole day had turned the color of old peach flesh and smog-soft gold. Los Angeles looked, as usual, both beautiful and vaguely dehydrated. The boulevard outside the theater-bar was filled with the particular kind of nightlife energy that always felt half-performative in this part of town: people dressed like they might be recognized, hoping somebody would.

Inside, The Last Cue was already deep in mood.

Layla was in the back service area with one boot propped against a crate, reading a paperback with the intensity of a woman ignoring at least three responsibilities.

Hakeem might not have looked twice if the cover hadn’t caught his eye. Black background. Pale lettering. A house half-obscured by mist.

He stopped mid-step. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Layla looked up. “What?”

He pointed at the paperback. “You’re reading Toni at work like you’re ready to be emotionally ruined on company time.”

“That is exactly what I’m doing,” Layla said. “Mind your business.”

He set his bag down behind the bar. “Which one?”

Layla held the cover out a little. “Mercy House. Tabbi said I had to finally read one before I kept making wild claims about horror aesthetics.”

From across the room, Tabbi called without looking up from a clipboard, “I stand by that.”

Hakeem glanced again at the cover. Layla was watching him now.

“You’ve read Toni, right?” she asked.

Hakeem made a face. “Obviously.”

Layla gasped with theatrical offense. “And you’ve been hiding that from me?”

“I have not been hiding it. It just hasn’t come up between your endless gossip and my commitment to paying rent.”

Tabbi came around the bar with her clipboard. “Real opinion, then.”

Hakeem froze for a fraction of a second.

This was always the danger. He could play breezy about horror up to a point, but once somebody asked him for a real opinion, the real opinion tended to arrive fully dressed with notes.

Layla’s eyes narrowed in delight. “He has one!”

“Of course I have one.” Hakeem rolled his eyes, but he didn’t really mean it.

“That tone means it’s sincere,” she said. “Gross. Go on.”

Hakeem grabbed a towel and started wiping down a counter that was already clean, mostly so he had somewhere to put his hands.

“Toni’s good at atmosphere,” he said.