Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Henry

HOW ARE THE cats today?

I'm startled to find a text awaiting me during a lull at the café. It's just me today, no Sebastian or River, but the shop is quiet, the customers gone, the cats napping in the sun filtering in through the windows. I use the quiet to stare at that text, my heart beating far too frantically. I shouldn't react so strongly to a simple text, but it's the first time that Alex has reached out to me. In some ways, it means more than when he quietly, silently slipped into my bedroom the other night. He was still mostly passive then, but this is him coming to me entirely of his own volition.

I tap out a response about how the cats are doing well. I make sure to mention Poppy in particular, the cat that seems to have taken to him. It's probably more detail than he actually wants, but I'm too excited to stop myself.

I jerk my head up when the door to the café opens. It's close enough to closing time that I'm not shocked to find Chloe heading inside.

"Slow day?" she says, looking around the empty café.

"The morning was the usual rush, but since then it's been a bit quiet, yeah," I say.

This isn't news to her. She knows the middle of the day is our slowest time, but we also don't have enough staff to stay open late into the evening.

"Can I help you with closing?" she says. "It looks like you could get out of here a little early if you want. Don't worry about your hours. You'll get paid for the usual amount."

I appreciate that. I'd love to leave here early, not because I have anything pressing to do this afternoon, but rather because my head is so scrambled that all I want to do is go home and angst over Alex in peace.

We start cleaning up, scooping litter boxes, wiping down tables, cleaning off the coffee bar. The health inspectors are real sticklers for how we run this place because of the cats, so Chloe and I clean every surface no matter how spotless.

An hour later, the shop is pristine, but I don't take my opportunity to leave.

"Um, Chloe, would you mind if we talked for a second?" I say.

"I have a minute." She leans her hip against the coffee bar and crosses her arms under her chest. "What's up?"

Chloe is aware of my roommate situation. She's let me put up some fliers, but they haven't yielded any results yet. It's getting harder to tell myself I can do this for a couple months, the panic creeping in like spilled ink seeping into a page.

"I was wondering if I could pick up a couple extra hours," I say. "With my roommate situation and all…"

Chloe's face falls, and my gut clenches. "I'd give you them if I had the hours to offer, but we're not a very big operation."

"I thought you were talking about hiring another staffer not too long ago."

"I was, but mostly so we don't have to rely on the high schoolers anymore. I was hoping to have another you, basically."

"I could be another me for right now," I suggest. "Like when I filled in on Saturday."

"That was a fluke," Chloe says. "Someone called out. I can't promise I can get you that every week, not least of all because it's not healthy to work that much. I want to hire someone to help you, to work alongside you reliably so you aren't alone here as much"

Working so much might not be healthy, but it's healthier than not making the rent.

"But I'll get you whatever I can," Chloe says. "I promise. And maybe some day we'll expand our hours. It's hard to say right now, but I'll let you know, Henry. I will."

"Thanks."

I try my best to smile, but this is the rare time when it feels hollow and insincere. I know Chloe will keep her word and get me whatever she can, but she's right that this place is small and doesn't need much more staff. If we added a new staffer, we could rely on the kids less, and that would be nice, but until she expands the shop's hours, we can keep running the way we are.

I gather my stuff and head out of the shop. As I pace down Main Street, I can't help glancing in the windows looking for "help wanted" signs, but I don't spot any. Maybe there's some kind of work I could find online. I might have to trek over to Everett, but even a weekend gig would help a lot.

The thought of working seven days a week to cover the bills drags a groan from my throat. I don't have much choice unless a roommate magically materializes out of thin air, but I don't relish the idea of giving up all of my free time. When will I go hiking? When will I hang out with Ellie? When will I live my life? Maybe I can ignore my student loan payments and buy myself more time that way. What's a little extra debt on a bill that large?

A text message interrupts my worrying. I pry my phone from my pocket to find a notification from Alex. Oh shit. I sent him that wall of text about the cats and then completely forgot about our conversation.

Glad they're all doing well. How late are you at the café today?

I actually just left, I respond.

I figure he's making small talk and I won't hear from him again for a while, but to my surprise, he begins typing immediately.

Can I see you later?

My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I tell myself to slow down, to breathe. This could mean anything. Maybe he wants to get away from his family again. This could be entirely platonic … but a large part of me doubts that.

Yes, of course, I say. I'll be home in a few minutes. Stop by whenever you like.

I have to work until five. I'll come over after?

Absolutely. See you then.

I have a couple hours, but I power walk the rest of the way home and immediately get in the shower. I'm not willing to risk Alex showing up while I smell like cat litter. By the time I'm toweling off, all thoughts of my dismal financial situation are gone, replaced with raw excitement. Not only did Alex reach out to me this time, but he wants to see me. He's coming here to do that. To hang out with me. I really don't care whether we watch a movie or end up back in bed; I'm skipping around the house either way. Fortunately, my recent anxiety has left it rigidly clean.

Next up: Wardrobe. I tear through my closet, trying to pick my most flattering pair of jeans. I go through about ten different shirts, discarding some as too casual and others as trying too hard. I can't overthink this. It might freak him out. I have to show him how completely, totally normal I can be about him coming over to "see me."

I'm definitely not normal about it, though.

I swear I put on and discard my entire wardrobe before I settle on regular old jeans and a simple T-shirt in a blue that complements my eyes. All that work and worry, and I chose something ridiculously unremarkable.

Oh well. I forbid myself from getting all wound up over it any longer, though it was nice to worry about how I look rather than how I'll pay rent next month. It's kind of thrilling getting ready for a guy, caring how I look, wondering how the night will go. I haven't had these kinds of butterflies in my stomach in a long, long time.

But soon there's nothing more that I can do. The house is clean. I'm dressed. I simply have to wait for him.

It only takes a couple minutes before my phone buzzes with a text.

Heading over.

If I had managed to calm myself down at all, that message undoes all my hard work. I'm jittery all over again, hands sweaty as I try to message back to let him know the door is unlocked and he can come right in. How long does it take to walk a mile? Not that long, right? Fifteen minutes or so, according to the internet.

I pace around the living room, then force myself to settle on the couch, but I can't keep my leg from bouncing. I try to put on something so it'll look like I was doing anything other than sitting here waiting for him, but I couldn't tell you what is droning at me through the television.

Alex will be here any minute. My brain doesn't have space to care about anything else.