Maya decided she wasn’t going to wait for her phone to buzz today. That was the plan. A good plan. A plan that lasted exactly fourteen minutes into her morning, which was how long it took before she reached for her phone anyway.

Nothing from Evan.

She tossed the phone across her bed like it had offended her.

It was her day shift at the bar, which she hated slightly less than night shifts because fewer drunk people showed up before sundown. She tied her hair, grabbed her bag, and stepped into Rivergate’s humid air.

On the way to work, she bought an iced tea and tried to convince herself that last night hadn’t meant anything unusual. She had absolutely failed by the time she reached the bar door.

Zoe was already inside, restocking glasses.

“There she is,” Zoe said. “Miss I’m-Not-Thinking-About-Him.”

“I’m not,” Maya said.

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“You are. Your face says you are.”

“My face is doing nothing.”

“Exactly. That’s the thinking face.”

Maya groaned. “I need new friends.”

“No you don’t. You need therapy and hydration.”

“I have iced tea.”

“That’s sugar water. Try again.”

Maya headed behind the counter before Zoe could roast her more.

Lunch hour trickled in slowly. A few regulars, a couple tourists, and one man trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t on a first date that was going badly. Maya served drinks, cleared plates, wiped tables, and tried not to look at her phone every ten minutes.

At one point, she caught herself staring at the door like a lost dog.

Stop it, she told herself.

And then, at 1:26 p.m., her phone buzzed.

She didn’t look immediately. She forced herself to finish pouring a beer first. Then she checked.

**How’s your day? —E**

She typed back:

**sticky**

**That sounds accurate for Rivergate.

I survived the morning call. Barely.**

**u win?**

**Let’s say I didn’t lose.

Are you free after your shift?**

Maya’s stomach tightened.

**maybe. why**

**I want to show you something.

Not work.

Not the booth.

Something else.**

She stared at that for longer than she meant to.

**ok? what**

**I’ll tell you in person.

If you say yes.**

She locked the phone fast, like it was dangerous to hold.

Zoe saw the whole thing.

“Oh my god,” Zoe said. “You’re glowing again.”

“Shut up.”

“You hate surprises.”

“I do.”

“And yet you’re going.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You typed it.”

“My hands typed it. Not me.”

“That’s… not how hands work.”

Maya ignored her and pretended she wasn’t sweating.

The rest of her shift dragged in a way that made her question time as a concept. The minute hand moved like it was swimming through glue.

At 3 p.m., a customer waved her over. An older woman with bright red nails and a floral dress.

“Sweetheart,” the woman said, “do you have anything that tastes like alcohol but doesn’t feel like alcohol?”

“Water,” Maya said.

The woman laughed. “You’re funny.”

“I’m unfortunately serious.”

“Then surprise me.”

Maya made a mocktail and delivered it. The woman took a sip and nodded. “Perfect. What’s your name?”

“Maya.”

The woman pointed a glittery finger at her. “You look like someone who pretends not to care but actually cares.”

Maya blinked. “Ma’am, please don’t profile me.”

The woman winked. “Too late.”

Maya walked away in emotional defeat.

Her phone buzzed again.

**I’ll be outside at four.

Unless you don’t want me to be.**

She typed:

**dont be early**

**I’ll try.

But no promises.**

She shoved her phone in her pocket and kept working before she could overthink herself into dust.

By 3:58, she was pacing behind the counter. Zoe noticed.

“You’re hopeless,” Zoe said.

“Shut up.”

“You’re in too deep.”

“Shut. Up.”

At 4:00 on the dot, Maya stepped outside.

The sun was hot. The sidewalk smelled like fried food and exhaust. She scanned the street.

No car.

Good. Perfect. Fantastic. She could go back inside, pretend she hadn’t cared, and—

A car pulled up at 4:02.

Two minutes. Just enough for him to say he wasn’t early.

The passenger window lowered.

“You’re on time,” Evan said.

“You’re not.”

“I was circling the block.”

“That’s cheating.”

“It was strategic.”

She climbed in. He drove off.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up today, and he looked like he’d been in three meetings and didn’t enjoy any of them. Still, he didn’t look tense like last night. Just… focused.

“What’s the ‘something’?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

“That phrase needs to be illegal.”

“I’ll stop saying it when I stop meaning it.”

“Annoying.”

“Understandable.”

She stared at him. “Is it actually not work?”

“It’s not work.”

“Is it weird?”

“Possibly.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say.”

He laughed softly. “If I were kidnapping you, I wouldn’t ask permission.”

“That makes it worse.”

“Fair.”

He made a turn and headed toward the river.

Maya blinked at the road. “You’re taking me to the water?”

“Not the tourist part.”

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

He kept driving, and Maya realized he was taking a route she didn’t recognize. The buildings got older, quieter, more worn. Not dangerous—just forgotten.

They finally parked near an old warehouse with faint lettering on the side.

Maya stared. “This is where serial killers take people.”

“It’s not abandoned,” Evan said. “It’s just… unused.”

“That’s worse.”

“Come on.”

He got out. She hesitated, then followed him to a side door that looked like nobody had used it in ten years. He unlocked it with a key she didn’t know he had.

Inside was dim and dusty. Sunlight came through high windows. Old crates were stacked against the walls. It smelled like wood and time.

Maya frowned. “Okay. You brought me to a haunted warehouse. Why?”

Evan walked a few steps ahead and stopped near the open center of the room.

“This,” he said, “used to be part of my family’s factory.”

She blinked. “Your… family?”

“My grandfather started Sterling & Co. here.”

She looked around again. Suddenly the dust felt different. He walked to an old wooden workbench and touched the edge.

“They moved production years ago,” he said. “Now it just sits here. I come by sometimes.”

Maya didn’t know what to say. He never talked about his family. Never mentioned anything before the company. Not once.

“Why’d you bring me?” she asked quietly.

He turned toward her.

“Because I didn’t want to be here alone today.”

Her heartbeat stuttered.

“That’s… dramatic,” she said.

“It’s honest.”

“That doesn’t make it less dramatic.”

He looked around the room again. “I come here when I need to think. Or when things feel heavy.”

“And today felt heavy?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the distributor thing?”

“That, and something else.”

She waited.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, he said, “Come here.”

She walked toward him slowly, like the floor might crack.

He pointed at the workbench. “This is the first table my grandfather built. He used to do every step himself before he hired anyone. My dad told me he’d stay up all night working.”

Maya ran her fingers along the rough edge. “It looks… real.”

“That was his thing.”

“Not your thing?”

“It used to be.” He paused. “Then everything got bigger. And louder.”

She understood that more than she expected.

He looked at her. “You asked why you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“This is why.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It is for me.”

She swallowed. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. Just be here.”

“That’s the vaguest instruction ever.”

“I trust your vague.”

She tried not to react to that. She failed.

He stepped closer to the bench, resting his hand on it again. “It feels different when someone else is here.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different real.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

And for the first time, she realized something she hadn’t let herself think:

She wasn’t being pulled into his world.

She was already in it.