Ryan reached for his coat off the back of the chair.
Maya’s hands found her bag strap and held on, an anchor when the rest of her felt anything but steady.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ryan said.
“Or walk you home. Whichever you’re doing.”
“You can walk home.” Maya slid her chair back and stood; she took up her things they both walked towards the door.
The cafe door chimed behind them.
Cold air hit her face, and she breathed it in like it owed her something.
The streetlights were just starting to come on, gold pooling in patches ahead of them.
Ryan matched her pace without seeming to try, hands in his jacket pockets, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers.
“So the Hyatt,” he said.
“I’ll email them in the morning.”
“Right. The Hyatt.”
Maya glanced over and found him already looking at her instead of at the street or anywhere a normal person would look while making conversation.
“You keep doing that,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I said something interesting when I said the word, Hyatt.”
He smiles.
“Maybe I find hotel logistics interesting.”
“Nobody finds hotel logistics interesting.”
“I find you interesting.” He said it plain, no laugh chasing it, no joke to soften the landing.
“I don’t know how else to put it without it sounding like a line.”
Maya’s stomach did something complicated.
She tightened her grip on her bag strap, grateful for the weight of it against her shoulder, for anything solid to hold onto.
“You’re not usually this direct, are you?”
“Not really.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders coming up toward his ears.
“But then again you have a boyfriend, remember”
“Who?” she said in shock
“Carter,” he said.
“Yeah, Carter. I don’t know where my mind is”
“That’s ok, plus it’s just a compliment.”
“And here’s another one: you look good tonight. I didn’t want to say it back there with everyone.”
“I’ve been wearing the same sweater since noon.”
“I noticed. It’s a good sweater.” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Maya let out a short laugh.
“Careful. Kingsly would call that flirting and might tell Carter.”
“Kingsly’s not here.”
“I know, but he has ears everywhere. I’m convinced he bugged the school.”
“If he did, he’d have quit journalism for the CIA by now.”
They walked another block like that, trading nothing important.
Then Ryan cleared his throat, the sound small but deliberate, the sound of a man building up to something.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Carter Vance didn’t know he was your type.”
Maya’s steps didn’t falter, but everything underneath them did, some quiet scramble that started in her chest and worked its way down.
She kept her eyes forward, on the crack running diagonally through the sidewalk two steps ahead.
“He’s not my type.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You two looked pretty cozy DATING The Photo and The Article.”
“That’s what couples do, isn’t it?”
“You were laughing.
At something he said in class.
You don’t laugh at things people say unless you actually think they’re funny.” Ryan’s tone stayed light and easy, but there was something underneath it: “I’ve watched you sit through some of Kingsley’s best material stone-faced.”
“Kingsly’s material is objectively bad, and he’s annoying and knows I don’t like him.”
“Fair. But you get my point.”
“He’s not so bad. Once you get past the whole hockey-captain-everyone-loves-him thing.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“He’s got more going on than people give him credit for.” The words came out before she’d fully decided to let them, and once they were in the air between them, she found she didn’t especially want to take them back.
“Layers. Underneath the jokes and the anime references and the whole effortless-golden-boy act, there’s actually someone paying attention. Someone who notices things.”
Ryan went quiet for a minute.
“Huh,” he said.
“Didn’t expect the defense to be that thorough.”
“I’m not defending him. I’m answering your question.”
“Well, now I’m defending against your defending accusation, so.” She threw her hands up, a small, exasperated gesture, grateful for the excuse to look at the street instead of his face.
“Can we talk about literally anything else? The Hyatt. The weather. Kingsly’s tragic hairline.”
“His hairline is fine.”
“It’s receding and he refuses to admit it. I give it two years before he’s doing the sad little comb-over.”
That pulled a real laugh out of him, short and surprised.
They turned the corner onto her street.
Her building came into view.
“This is me,” she said.
“I know.”
He stopped at the base of the steps, hands still in his pockets, and studied her with a look she couldn’t quite name and didn’t especially want to try.
Not quite disappointment.
Not quite curiosity.
Something in between, something that made her want to fill the silence before it could settle.
“Night, Maya.”
“Night.”
She climbed the steps without looking back, though some small, traitorous part of her wanted to, wanted to know if he was still standing there watching or if he’d already turned and started back the way they’d come.
She let herself into the building instead.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The stairwell smelled like laundry detergent and someone’s dinner three floors up, garlic and butter, faint under the fluorescent hum of the hallway light.
She climbed slowly, his voice looping back through her head on repeat.
Didn’t know he was your type.
And underneath it, quieter, harder to sit with, the memory of her own voice defending Carter before she’d had time to ask herself why she felt the need to.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket on the second-floor landing.
She pulled it out this time, thumb already moving before she’d decided to look.
Carter: I hope you’re home safe
Maya looked at her phone; its light was lighting up her face in the dim stairwell before her thumbs found the keys.
Maya: yeah
She hit send; three dots appeared instantly, then disappeared.
Her screen shifted.
Incoming video call: Carter.
Maya froze, her breath catching as his name filled the display.