CHAPTER SEVEN
ROWAN
He was still sitting there.
Like he had nowhere else to be.
Which was ridiculous, because Mason Reed always looked like he had somewhere better to be.
I watched him sip my coffee like it had personally insulted him.
“You’re making a face,” I said.
“It’s not coffee. It’s punishment.”
“Then stop drinking it.”
He didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
Instead he leaned back in the chair like my entire morning routine was now part of his schedule.
That shouldn’t have felt normal.
But it did.
Too quickly.
Outside, rain kept tapping the glass. The café was slowly filling up now—students dragging themselves into Saturday productivity like it was optional suffering.
I should’ve asked him to leave.
I didn’t.
Instead I went back to my laptop.
Wrong move.
Because now I was aware of him again.
Not staring.
Just existing.
Which was somehow worse.
Mason tapped my table once with his knuckles. “You always work like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to fight the screen.”
“It deserves it.”
He hummed like that made sense.
Then, after a pause:
“You didn’t go home last night?”
I glanced at him. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
Too fast.
Liar.
I watched him for a second.
Hair still slightly messy.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Fresh hoodie.
Still looked like someone who hadn’t fully landed in his own body yet.
“You look worse than me,” I said.
“Impossible.”
“Very possible.”
He leaned forward slightly. “You always this nice in the morning?”
“I’m not being nice.”
“That’s your neutral tone?”
“Yes.”
“Terrifying.”
I almost smiled again.
Almost.
Instead I reached for my coffee.
He didn’t give it back.
“I need that,” I said.
“You need sleep.”
“I need caffeine.”
“You need both.”
“Are you always this annoying, or is this a special occasion?”
He looked genuinely thoughtful for a second.
Then:
“Yes.”
I exhaled through my nose.
Mason watched me do it like it mattered.
That again.
That attention thing.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just constant.
Like I was something he kept accidentally tracking.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Serena:
alive?
I typed back quickly:
unfortunately
Mason leaned slightly to read it.
“Reporting on me already?” he asked.
“You wish.”
“You literally smiled at me earlier.”
“That was muscle memory.”
“Sure.”
He said it like he didn’t believe me at all.
Which was irritating.
Because I wasn’t sure I believed me either.
The café door opened behind us, letting in a burst of cold air.
A group of students walked in laughing too loudly, shaking off rain, filling the space with noise.
One of them pointed.
“Oh shit—Reed’s here.”
Of course they did.
Mason didn’t even turn.
Just sighed slightly like he was already tired of existing publicly.
That part surprised me.
Because everyone else at this school acted like attention was oxygen.
He acted like it was noise.
The group waved anyway.
One girl hesitated near our table.
“Hey… Mason?”
He finally looked up.
“Yeah?”
Her confidence wavered instantly.
“Uh—good game last night.”
“Thanks.”
Awkward pause.
She glanced at me.
Then back at him.
Then left way too quickly.
I watched her go. “You’re popular in a very exhausting way.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
“What’s another?”
“Loud.”
I nodded once. “Accurate.”
He studied me for a second.
“You don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Care.”
That landed slightly off-center.
I closed my laptop a little.
“I care about plenty of things.”
“Like what?”
“My degree.”
“That’s safe.”
“My future.”
“Still safe.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What answer are you looking for?”
“I’m not.”
But his voice said otherwise.
Silence stretched.
Rain harder now against the glass.
He looked down at my notebook.
“You always write by hand first?”
“Sometimes.”
“Old-school.”
“Effective.”
He nodded like he actually respected that.
Which was annoying in a different way.
Because it made him harder to dismiss.
His knee shifted slightly under the table.
It bumped mine.
Accidental.
I think.
Neither of us moved immediately.
That was the problem lately.
Nothing felt fully accidental anymore.
I glanced at him.
He didn’t look away.
“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t move his leg.
“Are you though?”
That made something flicker in his expression.
Small.
Gone fast.
“No,” he said.
Honest.
Too honest.
I swallowed slightly and looked back at my laptop.
Typing suddenly felt too loud.
A few seconds passed.
Then he said, quieter:
“My dad called last night.”
That surprised me.
I looked up again.
Mason was staring out the window now instead of me.
Jaw tight.
“He always call after games?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Supportive?”
A short laugh.
“No.”
That answer sat there heavier than it should’ve.
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I didn’t.
Instead I just nodded once and went back to my screen.
But the silence between us changed after that.
Less sharp.
More real.
His knee was still against mine.