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"That is an outrageous sentence to say at my place of work."

Antonio's eyes held on his face with warmth that Hakeem received without flinching. "Make me the drink, Hakeem."

Hakeem made him the drink. Tequila, lime, smoked rosemary syrup, the revised garnish that was no longer a contraceptive liability. He slid it across the bar and watched Antonio take the first sip with attentiveness. He understood he was tasting something personal.

Antonio set the glass down. "That's excellent."

"I know."

"It tastes like a threat you'd enjoy receiving."

"That's the tagline I should have used."

Layla materialized beside Hakeem with the supernatural timing that suggested she’d been watching the entire exchange from the service well and had decided her moment had arrived.

"So," she said, looking directly at Antonio. "You're him."

Antonio looked at her. "I'm him."

"You wrote Mercy House."

"I did."

Layla gave a single, deliberate nod, full of gravity, silence, and, Hakeem guessed, a little self-consciousness.

"That book ruined me," she said, bowing. "In a way I'm very grateful for."

Antonio's expression softened as if being told his work mattered by a woman in an ironic FINAL GIRL shirt with slightly peeling letters was affecting him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you," he said. "That's—genuinely. Thank you."

"I'm Layla."

"I know. Hakeem talks about you constantly."

"As he should." She looked at Hakeem behind the bar, Antonio on the other side of it, and the White Lighter glowing faintly on the counter between them. Layla looked at them with a sincerity that cut through her usual armor of sarcasm.

"I'm glad you two are figuring this out," she said. "Both of you deserve someone who pays attention. You've just been doing it at each other from weird angles."

Antonio looked at her for a long moment, absorbing the recognition of being seen by someone outside the closed ecosystem of his and Hakeem's orbit.

"Hakeem is lucky to have you," he said.

"I know," Layla said. "But tell him again sometime. He forgets."

She squeezed Hakeem's arm once and disappeared back into the shift, leaving Antonio sitting at the bar, turning the stem of the White Lighter in his fingers.

"She's amazing," Antonio said.

"She's one of the best people I know."

Hakeem watched him smile into his drink and felt a tension he hadn't known he was carrying finally release. Yes, he was still waiting to hear back about After Amy, but he felt as though something had been in motion for a long time and was finally finding a place to rest. Antonio was in his bar, drinking a cocktail Hakeem had made, and he looked comfortable. Like he was discovering, with careful surprise, that the world on the other side of his pen was not as dangerous as he'd built it to be.

Tabbi appeared at the end of the bar. She looked at Antonio, looked at Hakeem, looked at the White Lighter, and said, without breaking stride, "You're the roommate."

"I'm the roommate."

Tabbi studied him for one beat. "Happy birthday, Hakeem. Clock out early. I'm feeling generous, which historically doesn't last."