Page 12 of Returning to Pine Ridge
“I … yeah, actually. I’d like that.”
“Great.” Kai smiles in a way that makes his eyes light up. “I’m at the library most afternoons. You could come by tomorrow? Around three? If you haven’t gone back to Denver, that is.”
“Tomorrow at three. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Perfect.”
There’s a moment where our eyes hold. Just a beat too long. Just enough to feel a shift. Like he’s flirting.
Or I’m reading this wrong.
But Kai’s expression suggests the former.
He stands up, and I admire the way his sweater fits him. The way his hair falls slightly into his eyes. The way he looks at me like I’m worth looking at.
“I should get back to the library. But I’m really glad I saw you here.”
“Me too.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Yes.”
He leaves the café, and I watch him go. I’m aware of how that probably looks. I don’t care. My heart is racing. My hands are shaking slightly. My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Jordan:
Have you thought about what I said?
You know it’s a good idea.
I don’t respond. I’m thinking about tomorrow. I’m thinking about the way my body seems to relax around Kai. I’m thinking about maybe letting myself enjoy something.
Something real.
Something terrifying.
Something I’m not sure I’m ready for, but I’m going to show up for anyway.
4
KAI
Atlas arrivesat the library at exactly three o’clock.
I know because I’ve been watching the door for the last ten minutes, pretending to help the librarian organize files while actually just thinking about him. Which is ridiculous. I’m thirty-three years old. I shouldn’t be this nervous about a guy I just met.
But then he walks in, and I remember why I’m nervous.
He’s wearing a dark blue Henley that fits him perfectly, and his hair is still slightly damp like he showered before coming here. He’s made an effort. That detail shouldn’t matter, but it does.
“Hey,” he says, and his smile is genuine. Not the performing one he wore at the party two days ago.
“Hey. Thanks for coming.”
I lead him to the back room where I’ve set up the recording station. The space is small, but it works—wall-to-wall shelves filled with books, memory sticks, organized files. The books provide perfect insulation for recordings, dampening the sound, and creating a cocoon of privacy. There’s a door that closes completely, giving us isolation from the rest of the library.
“So this is where the magic happens?” Atlas asks, looking around at the shelves, the equipment tucked into corners, the organized chaos of my work.
