Page 101 of What We Bury

“We’re keeping her?” Milo claps his hands together once, shifting gears. “Fantastic! Who’s on her tonight?”

“Eli was there, skulking around in the shadows last night,” Holden points out and I flip him off. “Maybe someone else should?—”

“Me. Me! I volunteer as tribute!” Milo holds up a hand. “Tonight is our anniversary.”

“That’s not what I—” I try to start, but Micah interrupts.

“Yourwhat?” he asks, staring at Milo.

“Ouranniversary.” Milo says it like he’s explaining gravity to a toddler.

“Anniversary ofwhat?” Holden says, with the weariness of a man who already regrets asking.

“Of the sacred evening I resolved, in my heart, to bless her with my glorious presence the following day.” Milo presses a hand to his chest. “A night of profound personal courage. I lay awake. I chose a shirt, laid out my sales pins. Rehearsed my opening line.”

“I heard you asked her opinion on squirrels,” Knox says.

“And itlanded.”

Knox rolls his eyes. “She’s working till six,” he adds. “I’ll be the one walking her home.”

“Outrageous.” Milo rounds on him. “You walked her homelasttime. You’re hogging the kitten.”

“I’m following the roster.” Knox doesn’t look up. “It’s in the group chat. Read it. I’m getting her home from Gull’s. Holden takes over from there.”

Holden perks up. “I do?”

Knox shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “That’s what’s on the roster. I’m working here tonight. Micah is too. Eli’s at the adult learning center. You’re on her.”

Holden grins, eyes swinging to Milo. “You’re benched, bud.”

“Benched!” Milo says it like a slur. “Fine. Then I’m taking a booth and eating my body weight in pie while she falls slowly in love with me across the room. Nobody can stop that. It’s already in motion.”

“She’s probably scared of you,” Holden says.

“She’sdelightedby me.”

“Doubt it,” Knox mutters.

I tune them out.

Their voices blur into background—Milo and Holden trading barbs, Knox dropping the occasional one-word verdict. I glancetoward Micah, who’s laughing to himself, wiping the bar and pretending he’s above all of it.

He catches me watching and stops. Reaches under the bar. Sets something folded on the mahogany between us.

My jacket.

“Why do you have that?”

“She wanted you to have it back.” He says it carefully, watching me.

I look at it sitting there. Worn leather, soft at the cuffs, the thing I draped over her shoulders in the park a lifetime ago and let her keep because I’m not as strong as I pretend.

I should leave it where it is.

I pick it up instead.

And that’s the mistake, because the second it’s in my hands I bring it to my face like an idiot. It smells like her now. Her shampoo, her skin, the cheap vanilla thing she dabs behind her ears. I gave her something of mine and she’s handed me back something entirelyher, and the wanting that comes up out of me is so total, so far past anything I have a category for, that for one second I can’t breathe around it.