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Several cups sit at the other end of the counter, each with a name written on it. I still don't like it.

“Roman.”

Her finger freezes for a second, but I see it.

Then she taps the screen. “Roman.”

She says my name like it confirms something.

Callie.

She talked to this woman.

I'd bet my fucking truck on it.

“That'll be three eighty-five.”

I hand her a five.

She gives me my change. Slowly. Very fucking slowly.

“Anything else?” she asks.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because we have⁠—”

“Coffee.”

“Right.”

I move toward the other end of the counter.

I can feel her watching me.

I pull out my phone. There’s nothing new from Callie.

I check the time. Seventeen minutes since she posted.

She could be anywhere by now.

I shouldn't care. But I do.

Fuck.

I glance toward the counter.

The woman is on her phone now. Her fingers fly over the screen.

She looks at me, then back at her phone.

Definitely texting Callie.

I almost walk over and ask.