Non-Linear Progression
Riley
Riley would not have selected the café herself.
The noise level alone would have excluded it from consideration.
Not because it was overwhelming—it wasn’t—but because it required a level of passive processing she generally preferred to avoid.
Conversations overlapped throughout the room in a constant low murmur, cups clicked against saucers, chairs scraped intermittently across timber floors, and somewhere behind the counter the coffee machine released periodic bursts of steam.
None of it was individually disruptive. Collectively, however, it created a level of environmental variability that Riley would ordinarily categorise as unnecessary.
And yet she remained seated.
That, in itself, was quickly becoming a recurring pattern.
Over the past week she had found herself tolerating—and occasionally even seeking out—experiences she would once have dismissed as inefficient. Dee had referred to this as ‘being a person’. Riley remained unconvinced by the terminology, but the observable data supported the broader conclusion.
Across from her, Dee seemed entirely untroubled by the environment. She had been talking almost continuously since they sat down, moving seamlessly from one topic to another in a way Riley had long ago accepted as one of her defining characteristics.
“... And then he informed me, with complete confidence, that the reason he couldn’t possibly participate in therapy was because he’d already solved every problem in existence.”
Riley looked up from the table. “Had he?”
“No,” Dee said dryly. “He was eight.”
Riley considered that. “That does reduce the statistical likelihood.”
“Thank you.”
Dee took a breath before continuing, creating dramatic tension. “He then spent twenty minutes explaining his solution to global warming, which apparently involved relocating everyone to Tasmania.”
“Who on earth would want to live in Tasmania?” The voice arrived before the person did.
Riley turned toward it automatically. An older man was approaching their table carrying two coffees despite neither of them having gone anywhere near the counter. His movements were unhurried, practised and entirely confident in the assumption that he belonged wherever he happened to be standing.
Dee brightened immediately. “Colin.”
“There she is,” he replied warmly. “My favourite customer.”
“You say that to everyone.”
“I absolutely do.”
The exchange carried the easy rhythm of a conversation that had been repeated countless times before. Without being asked, Colin placed a fresh coffee in front of Dee before looking toward Riley.
“And this must be Riley.”
Riley blinked. “How do you know my name?”
Dee looked entirely unapologetic. “I may have mentioned you once or twice.”
“Twenty-seven times,” Colin corrected.
Riley looked between them. “You counted?”
“No, dear,” Colin admitted. “But it sounds more impressive if I did.”
Dee laughed. “Colin owns the café.”
“I prefer ‘benevolent dictator,’” Colin said.
Riley took a moment to observe him. He appeared to be somewhere in his seventies, though she suspected he would object to the estimate. The lines around his eyes suggested a lifetime of smiling, and the way people greeted him as they entered suggested he knew most of the regular customers by name.
Dee explained the situation before. Colin had owned the café for decades and had technically retired several years ago. The retirement apparently lasted less than three weeks before he returned and resumed spending most of his time there anyway.
According to Dee, he now operated under the premise that he was retired while simultaneously working more than anyone else in the building.
“Anyway,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, “I’ll leave you two alone.” Riley wasn’t entirely sure why his expression had changed.
“Lovely meeting you, Riley.”
“Likewise.”
He gave them both a small salute with the dishcloth draped over his shoulder before turning away. “You girls enjoy your coffee.”
As soon as Colin disappeared back behind the counter, Dee waited precisely long enough to be polite. Then she turned back to Riley.
“Right,” she said, settling more comfortably into her chair.
“I’ve now updated you on every boring development in my life.
” For a moment Dee took a sip of her coffee, then pointed directly at her.
“Now, tell me about Declan.” She sang his name; in a way Riley could tell was teasing.
Riley felt a surprising rush of warmth climb into her face.
Dee’s eyes widened so quickly Riley knew something had changed before she even spoke. “Oh my god.”
Riley frowned. “What?”
Dee looked almost offended that she had to explain it. “You just blushed.”
“I did not.”
“Riley Lorrent.” The use of her full name suggested Dee believed she was being unreasonable. Riley glanced down at her coffee, as though the surface might provide some objective clarification. It didn’t.
When she looked back up, Dee was grinning so broadly she appeared moments away from falling out of her chair. “This is incredible,” she said, sounding genuinely delighted.
“I fail to see why.”
“Because six months ago you treated any man who sat too close to you like he’d committed a criminal offence.” Dee shook her head, still grinning. “And now you’re sitting here blushing because I mentioned Declan’s name.”
“That is not what occurred.”
“Sure.”
Riley narrowed her eyes slightly. Dee ignored the look entirely, leaning forward across the table instead. “So,” she said, lowering her voice despite the fact nobody within ten metres cared about the conversation, “how far have we gotten?”
Riley blinked. “That is an imprecise question.”
“You know exactly what I’m asking.”
After a brief moment of consideration, Riley nodded. “Physically?”
The reaction occurred so fast that Riley didn’t even get a chance to watch it happen. “See?” Dee pointed at her. “The fact you clarified means you absolutely know what I’m asking.”
“That is a reasonable observation.”
“Thank you. Now answer the question.”
Riley glanced briefly out the window, more because she was organising the information than avoiding it. “We have progressed beyond kissing.”
The effect on Dee was remarkable. She froze halfway through lifting her coffee before slowly setting it back down on the table. “Beyond kissing,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Riley.”
“Yes?”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Riley considered the question carefully. “I am unfamiliar with the conventional classification system.”
Dee groaned. “The bases, Riley.”
“I do not know the bases.”
“Okay.” Dee pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Are we talking sex or touching while making out?”
A brief pause followed. “The latter.”
The sound Dee made suggested she had either received shocking news or sustained a minor injury. “Oh my god.”
Riley frowned. “I am unclear why this continues to surprise you.”
“Because you’re you,” Dee replied, as though that explained everything. Judging by her expression, it apparently did. “You’re telling me that the woman who once created an entire list explaining why she disliked being hugged is now voluntarily making out with a man on a regular basis.”
“When you phrase it that way,” Riley admitted, “it does sound unusual.”
“Thank you.”
Riley wrapped both hands around her mug, allowing the warmth to settle comfortably into her fingers. “It has been less difficult than anticipated.”
The humour faded from Dee’s face almost immediately. “Less difficult how?”
Riley looked down at the coffee again. “I expected physical contact to require management.”
Understanding crossed Dee’s face instantly. Riley could see it in the way her expression softened.
“But it doesn’t?” Dee asked quietly.
“Not with him.” A grin spread slowly across Dee’s face, the kind that usually meant Riley was about to become the subject of sustained harassment.
“Oh, you are down bad.”
“I am not.”
“Riley.”
“I am not.”
Dee laughed into her coffee. “You just told me you actively seek out physical contact with him, think about him when he isn’t there, and prefer being closer to him rather than further away. I don’t know what definition you’re working with, but from where I’m sitting, you’re absolutely down bad.”
Riley chose not to engage with that assessment. Unfortunately, Dee showed no signs of moving on. “I cannot believe this,” she said, shaking her head.
“What?”
“I genuinely spent years assuming I would be the first one of us to have a functioning love life.”
“This is not a love life, it is a clearly defined arrangement.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“There are established parameters.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. Dee took another sip of coffee, looking entirely unbothered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Riley briefly considered explaining, once again, that labels without sufficient supporting evidence were logically unsound. Experience suggested it would accomplish nothing. Dee already reached her conclusion and appeared perfectly content to remain there.
The discussion ended for a much simpler reason. Her phone buzzed against the table. The vibration cut cleanly through the layered sounds of the café and immediately pulled Riley’s attention downward.
Declan.
Dee’s head snapped back up so fast it was almost violent. “Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Speak of the devil.”
Riley glanced at her briefly before looking back at the screen. The reaction seemed disproportionate, Declan called her regularly. There was nothing inherently unusual about seeing his name appear on her phone.
And yet her thumb lingered above the screen for a fraction longer than necessary before she accepted the call.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Riles.” The response came easily. His voice settled comfortably into her awareness, warm and familiar in a way she had begun to recognise as distinct from simple predictability. There were many consistent things in Riley’s life. Very few of them altered her internal state simply by existing.
Declan, increasingly, seemed to be one of them.