CHAPTER EIGHT
MASON
She didn’t move away.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the rain. Not the café noise. Not even my phone buzzing again in my pocket.
Just Rowan still there.
Knee against mine like it wasn’t a thing worth correcting.
Most people would’ve shifted by now. Pretended it didn’t happen. Made space. Done the polite awkward shuffle.
Rowan didn’t.
She just kept typing.
Like she trusted me not to make it weird.
Or like she didn’t care if I did.
Either option was annoying.
“Your dad’s intense,” she said suddenly, eyes still on her screen.
I let out a short laugh. “That’s one word for it.”
“What’s the other?”
I hesitated.
Didn’t answer immediately.
Because I didn’t have a clean version of it.
Rowan finally looked at me.
Not soft. Not sympathetic.
Just… waiting.
That was worse somehow.
“Controlling,” I said finally. “Obsessed. Depends on the day.”
She nodded like she’d already expected that answer.
“You always listen to him?”
“No.”
A pause.
Then she tilted her head slightly. “But you still care what he thinks.”
That hit too accurately.
I didn’t like it.
So I deflected.
“You psychoanalyze everyone like this?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
I looked at her then.
Properly.
She didn’t look away.
Of course she didn’t.
The café felt quieter suddenly. Or maybe I just noticed it more.
Her laptop screen lit her face in soft light. No makeup today. Hair messy. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like she’d forgotten she had a body outside her thoughts.
She looked… real.
Not curated.
Not campus version Rowan Hayes.
Just her.
That version made my chest feel weird for reasons I wasn’t interested in naming.
My knee was still touching hers.
Still.
I should’ve moved.
Didn’t.
Instead I said, “You always this quiet when you’re working?”
“No.”
“What’s different today?”
She paused for half a second.
Then: “You’re here.”
That should’ve been a joke.
It wasn’t said like one.
I stared at her.
She went back to typing immediately like she hadn’t just dropped something in my chest and walked away.
Jace would’ve lost his mind if he saw this.
Actually—no.
Jace already was losing his mind somewhere.
I could practically hear him.
Rowan suddenly reached for her coffee again.
Missed it slightly.
I grabbed it without thinking.
Hand to cup.
Our fingers brushed.
Quick.
But enough.
She froze for half a beat.
So did I.
Then she took it like nothing happened.
“Thanks,” she said.
Normal voice.
Controlled.
But her grip tightened slightly after she took it back.
I noticed.
Of course I did.
Outside, rain hit harder.
Some kid in the corner laughed too loudly at something on their laptop.
Rowan shut her screen halfway.
Not fully.
Just enough.
“You always this… still?” she asked.
“What?”
“When you sit.”
I frowned. “That’s a weird question.”
“I’m asking it anyway.”
I thought about it.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Who I’m with.”
That made her pause.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I noticed.
She tapped her pen once against her notebook.
Then said, “And what am I?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
That was the problem.
Because there were too many answers.
None of them simple enough to say out loud in a café on a Saturday morning.
So I went with the safest one.
“Annoying.”
She huffed a quiet laugh.
“Fair.”
But she didn’t look offended.
That was the problem.
She looked… like she liked that answer.
Like it fit.
Like it gave her something to push against.
Rowan leaned back slightly in her chair for the first time since I got here.
Her knee slid away from mine.
Small thing.
But I noticed immediately.
Annoyingly immediately.
She stretched her fingers, glanced at my empty coffee cup.
“You finished it?”
“It was punishment.”
“Still drank it.”
“I don’t like wasting things.”
“Sure,” she said, like she didn’t believe me for a second.
Then she added, quieter:
“You look different when you’re not performing.”
I went still.
“Performing?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Basketball version of you. Party version. Interview version.”
I stared at her.
She wasn’t looking at me when she said it.
Just tapping her pen again.
Like it was casual.
Like it wasn’t anything.
But my chest tightened anyway.
“Which version am I now?” I asked.
She looked up at me then.
Held it for a second too long.
Then:
“I don’t know yet.”
Silence again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just loaded in a way I didn’t like thinking about.
My phone buzzed again.
Dad.
I didn’t check it this time.
Rowan noticed anyway.
Of course she did.
“You should answer that,” she said.
“No.”
“Important?”
“Always.”
That got her attention.
Properly.
She closed her laptop fully now.
Turned toward me slightly.
“So why don’t you?”
I let out a breath through my nose.
Because if I answered that honestly, this conversation would go somewhere I didn’t want it to go.
Instead I said, “Because I’m sitting here.”
Rowan didn’t respond right away.
Then, quietly:
“That sounds like a choice.”
Yeah.
It did.
That was the problem.
Her phone buzzed now.
She checked it.
Smirked faintly.
“Serena says you look like you’re about to start a fight in a café.”
I glanced around. “I’m not.”
“You are though,” she said.
“Not with you.”
That came out too fast.
Too honest.
Rowan noticed.
She always noticed.
Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands.
Then back up.
“You do that a lot,” she said.
“What?”
“React first. Think later.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“Is that your diagnosis?”
“No,” she said. “Just observation.”
A beat.
Then she added:
“It’s kind of… honest.”
That word again.
I didn’t like it.
But I didn’t argue.
Outside, rain started easing off.
Inside, nothing really moved.
Except the space between us.
That kept changing without permission.
Rowan reached for her bag.
“Rowan,” I said before I could stop myself.
She paused.
Looked at me.
“What?”
I didn’t know why I stopped her.
Didn’t have a plan.
Just—
“Are you always like this?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for people to disappoint you.”
Her expression didn’t change immediately.
But something behind it did.
Small shift.
Controlled.
Then she stood up slowly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Pretty much.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder.
Looked at me once more.
Longer this time.
Then:
“Try not to take it personally.”
And she walked out into the rain.
Leaving her empty coffee cup behind.