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Rafe slid into the chair beside me. “Art is all about the grit, my friend.”

I tried not to notice how close he was. Or the faint scent of soap and something warm that drifted toward me when he leaned forward to set the bottle on the table.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Only Calder telling me how much he enjoyed the ballet as a child.”

Rafe smiled and shook his head. “Ruth and her Nutcracker. I got drafted to go one year. I thought it was pretty good.”

Calder scoffed. “The only good part of that night was the omakase place my mom took me to after.”

“There’s actually an omakase place near here that just got a Michelin star,” I said. “I read about it the other day.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked to mine. “In Gothamist?”

I smiled. “Yeah, I love that magazine.”

Calder looked between us, shaking his head. “The only Gotham I know is from Batman.”

Rafe chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

Calder lifted his glass. “I’m here for the wine and my girl, buddy.”

“Fair enough.”

The lights dimmed slightly near the front, and a woman stepped onto the small platform, adjusting the microphone. As the room quieted, Rafe leaned back in his chair and his arm brushed mine. Just barely. But it was enough to make every little hair stand on end.

The performer began speaking—a slam poet. And for the next three minutes, she held the entire room captive as she recited a poem about love and heartbreak. Her voice rose and fell as she delivered the lines, sometimes barely above a whisper and other times loud and powerful. Raw, honest, unguarded emotion made every word feel personal, and somewhere along the way, I realized my heart actually hurt for her. When it ended, every person in the room clapped. Rafe and I exchanged smiles, and I could see in his eyes that he’d felt it deeply, too.

Curious, I glanced toward Calder. And found him scrolling on his phone. He looked up and shrugged. “Glad that one’s over.”

I managed a small smile, trying to hide my disappointment and the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. Had it always been like this with Calder? I tried to remember when we used to have more to say to each other. When we’d laughed at the same things or stayed up too late talking about nothing. Surely we had. But lately, it felt like I was constantly searching for something to hold on to between us—some shared interest, or spark of the people we used to be. We couldn’t have changed that much since college, right?

“Would you like more wine?”

“Definitely.”

A few more performers took the stage—a comedian, a cellist, and an indie author who read a chapter of her upcoming book. Then Rafe slapped his thighs and stood. “Welp. My turn.”

I blinked. “I didn’t realize you were performing.”

He winked. “Maybe the sound of glass breaking will wake up your boyfriend.”

Calder didn’t look away from his phone. “Score’s tied six-six, in case you’re wondering.”

Unfazed by his friend’s disinterest, Rafe walked toward the small stage. But instead of stepping onto the platform like the others had, he stopped in the open space in front of it. Someone from the bookstore wheeled out a large wooden frame holding a blank black canvas and a clear pane of glass. He took the frame and set it on the floor, and I leaned forward in my chair.

Rafe rolled his neck like an athlete about to step into a game, then he lifted his foot and drove his boot heel into the glass a few times at different angles. The surface splintered, a web of lines spreading across it. He stepped back and studied the pattern for a moment, like a painter looking at a canvas. Then he slipped a hammer from his back pocket—one I hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying—and knelt down, tapping the glass in all different places. Each strike sent more deep cracks spreading outward in jagged lines.

The energy in the room shifted, and people started standing, forming a loose circle around him to get a closer look. A few minutes ago everyone had been quiet, politely applauding between acts. But now the space felt electric, charged with something.

I noticed something else, too. The crowd was suddenly a lot more female. A group of women near the front clustered together, whispering and smiling as Rafe swung the hammer. His long hair had come loose from whatever tie had been holding it back, and strands now fell around his face as he worked. His arms flexed, muscles tightening beneath the black T-shirt he wore. I dragged my eyes away from his arms and back to the glass as the cracks began to form an image.

They weren’t random like they had seemed at first. But intentional. Slowly, almost magically, they began to take shape. I looked over at Calder, who was still focused on his phone. “I’m going to stand with the crowd so I can get a better look.”

Calder smiled and nodded. “Have at it. I’ve seen this act about a hundred times.”

I joined the circle and watched in awe. Rafe stepped back, breathing a little heavier now, and tilted his head as he studied the glass again.