Chapter 3
Devin
"I breathe weird?"
"You breathe like you're trying not to exist." He sits up, stretches. "It's creepy."
"So that girl at Footlocker," Tyler says as we wait in line. "The one with the braids? I went back yesterday after my shift and she gave me her number."
"The one who laughed when you tried to explain sneaker technology?"
"She was laughing with me, not at me."
"Sure she was."
Tyler's twenty, been here six months longer than me. Parents kicked him out for the classic reason, brought a boyfriend home, ended up homeless. The boyfriend lasted two weeks. Tyler's still here, still optimistic, still convinced every cute girl or guy who smiles at him is the one.
"When you gonna get a girlfriend, Dev?" He asks, piling eggs onto his plate. "Or boyfriend. Whatever. You can't just read forever."
"I like reading."
"You like hiding."
He's not wrong. I grab milk, skip the eggs, snag an apple that's only slightly bruised.
"Oh shit, I almost forgot." Tyler pulls a crumpled envelope from his pocket. "Melissa from Footlocker actually wrote me a letter. Like an actual letter. Can you believe it?"
"That's either really romantic or really weird."
"It's romantic." He tears it open, reads, grins. "She wants to go to the movies Saturday. See? I told you she liked me."
Back in our room, I pull out the pastries from yesterday while Tyler rereads his letter. There are six. Robin always packs extra. I take two, leave him four.
"Damn, your boss really hooks you up."
"He's just nice."
"Nobody's that nice without wanting something."
"Robin is." I think about how he hired me when my hands were shaking so bad I could barely fill out the application. How he pretends the leftover pastries are trash when they'd sell for five dollars each. "Some people are just good."
"Must be nice, working around normal people." Tyler checks his phone. "Shit, I'm gonna be late. You heading to the library?"
"Yeah."
"Course you are. Hey, maybe today you should try talking to actual humans instead of just books."
"I talk to humans. I work customer service."
"That doesn't count and you know it." He grabs his backpack. Ten-hour warehouse shifts that pay just enough to save something but never enough to get ahead fast. "See you tonight. Try not to become one with the furniture."
After he leaves, I check my own mail cubby downstairs. Nothing but a reminder that I age out of the shelter in sixty days. As if I could forget. Thirty-nine days until I have enough saved for the apartment. That leaves me twenty-one days of buffer. I can make this work.
The morning air is crisp, last night's rain leaving everything clean and sharp. I walk fast, already planning my reading schedule for the morning. Five hours before my shift. I can finish The Goblin Emperor and maybe start something new.
The library's warm and quiet when I arrive. Margaret's at the front desk, and she waves me through without question. She's never asked why I'm here every morning, never questioned why a twenty-year-old spends sixty hours a week in a library.
My usual spot in the reference section is empty.
I settle in, pull out my book, and lose myself in the story of a half-goblin prince trying to navigate a court that hates him.
There's something comforting about reading about someone else who doesn't quite fit in, who's trying to find his place in a world that doesn't want him.
At 11:45, I pack up and head to the café. Robin's already there, testing some new creation that smells like cinnamon and brown butter.
"Dev! Perfect timing. Try this." He shoves a fork at me with something that looks like a cinnamon roll had a baby with a croissant.
"What is it?"
"I don't know yet. That's why you're trying it."
I take a bite. It's incredible. Flaky, sweet, with a hint of cardamom.
"Good?"
"Really good."
"Excellent. I'm calling them morning buns. We're adding them to the menu." He studies me. "You okay? You look pale."
"I'm always pale."
"Paler than usual, then."
"Just tired."
Robin doesn't look convinced, but the noon rush starts before he can interrogate me further. The familiar rhythm of coffee orders helps calm my nerves. Steam milk, pull shots, smile at customers. Normal. Safe.
At almost one, Silas walks in.
He's wearing a dark green henley that brings out his eyes, and he's carrying a different book. Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey.
He took my recommendation.
He actually went and got the book I recommended.
"Hey," he says, approaching the counter.
"Hi." My voice doesn't crack this time. Progress. "Same as yesterday? Large coffee, black?"
"Yeah. And maybe one of whatever Robin's been baking. Smells good."
"Morning buns," Robin calls out, not even trying to pretend he's not eavesdropping. "Dev says they're incredible."
"Dev's right," Silas says, and I have to look away because he's looking directly at me when he says it.
I make his coffee with hands that only shake a little, box up a morning bun, ring him up. When I hand him his change, our fingers brush.
"Keep it," he says, dumping it all in the tip jar again. Then, quieter: "Thanks for the recommendation. Started it last night. You were right about the world-building."
He read it. He started reading the book I suggested and came back to tell me about it.
"The first three chapters are slow," I manage. "But after that —"
"It picks up. Yeah, I hit chapter four around midnight. Couldn't put it down."
We're having a conversation. An actual conversation about books.
"Wait until you meet Lessa properly," I say, forgetting to be nervous. "She's amazing. Like, she seems weak at first, but —"
"No spoilers," he says, but he's smiling. Actually smiling, his whole face warmer and softer with it.
"Right. Sorry. I just — I really love those books."
"I can tell." He picks up his coffee, hesitates. "What are you reading right now?"
I show him my book. The Goblin Emperor.
"Any good?"
"Really good. Political intrigue but with goblins and elves. The main character's this half-goblin who becomes emperor and has no idea what he's doing but tries so hard to be good —" I stop, realizing I'm rambling.
"Sounds interesting." He shifts his weight, looks at me like he's working up to something. Then: "When's your break?"
"What?"
"Your break. When do you take it?"
"Um, usually around two-thirty? Why?"
"Maybe we could talk about books. If you want. I'll be reading over there." He nods toward the same corner booth as yesterday.
Is he asking to hang out with me? On my break?
"I... yeah. Okay. I'd like that."
"Cool." Another smile, smaller but still there. "See you at two-thirty."
He walks to his booth, and I stand there staring after him until Robin hip-checks me.
"That was painful to watch," he says. "But also adorable. He asked you to take your break with him!"
"To talk about books."
"Dev, honey, nobody asks someone to spend their break talking about books unless they're interested."
"Maybe he just really likes books."
"He does. He also really likes shy baristas who leave him notes with smiley faces."
My face burns. "I have customers."
"No, you don't. It's dead until the afternoon crowd." Robin props his elbows on the counter. "So. You gonna actually talk to him, or are you going to panic and hide in the storage room?"
"I don't hide in the storage room."
"You hid in the storage room yesterday when Knox and Vaughn got into an argument about motorcycle parts."
"They were loud."
"They were enthusiastic." Robin glances at Silas's booth. "He's different from them. Quiet. Thoughtful. Kind of like you."
"He's nothing like me."
"Why? Because he's older? Gorgeous? Has his life together?"
Because he probably has a real apartment with his own bathroom. Because he doesn't count down days until he can afford a security deposit. Because he doesn't wake up at night worried about aging out with nowhere to go.
"Dev?" Robin's voice is gentle. "Seriously, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Okay." He doesn't push, which I appreciate. "Well, when you take your break at two-thirty to definitely just talk about books with the hot lion shifter, maybe get to know him a little more. You know, for purely literary discussions."
"Robin —"
"I'm just saying, the man checked out a book you recommended and showed up to talk to you about it. That's romance novel behavior."
"That's friendly behavior."
"That's 'I'm interested but I don't want to scare the shy barista' behavior."
I glance at Silas's booth. He's reading, completely absorbed, using my note as a bookmark still.
Two-thirty. An hour and a half to figure out how to have a normal conversation with the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
No pressure.