Maya woke up the next morning feeling like she hadn’t actually slept. She had, technically—her alarm proved it—but her head felt full, buzzing with leftover emotions from the night before. She kept seeing the moment at Table Nine, kept hearing Evan’s voice telling the guy to sit down, kept replaying him staying until she left. She tried brushing her teeth twice, hoping the adrenaline taste would go away.
It didn’t.
She checked her phone, saw no messages from him, and put the phone down like it was hot.
Good.
She didn’t need more.
She already had enough to overthink for a month.
By noon she felt restless, so she walked to a small deli near her apartment. She ordered a sandwich she didn’t really want, mostly because she needed to do something normal. She sat by the window with her food untouched when her phone buzzed.
**Are you free later? —E**
Her stomach dropped.
She typed:
**probably not**
He replied immediately.
**It’s not about last night.
It’s about something at work.
I need a second opinion.**
She frowned.
**i dont know anything about your work**
**That’s why it helps.
You’re not… involved.**
She stared at the words *not involved*.
She wasn’t sure if they stung or relieved her.
**Okay** she typed, before she could think better of it.
**I’ll pick you up in an hour.**
She shut her phone and pushed her sandwich away. Normal wasn’t happening today.
Evan’s car pulled up right on time. Maya climbed in. He looked different from yesterday—not calmer, not stressed, but focused in a sharper way. His jaw was tight. His fingers tapped the steering wheel once before he drove.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Not entirely.”
She waited. Evan usually picked his words carefully. When he didn’t talk, it was because something was wrong enough that he hadn’t sorted it yet.
“Is this about the booth?” she asked.
“No.”
“The warehouse?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He hesitated long enough that she braced herself.
“My father called.”
Ah.
That explained everything.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“That I’m making stupid decisions.”
“Are you?”
“Probably.”
“Honest.”
“I try.”
She angled toward him slightly. “Okay. What else?”
“He wants a meeting.”
“About what?”
“He wouldn’t say on the phone.” Evan exhaled slowly. “But he rarely calls unless it’s serious.”
“Serious like…?”
“Like he thinks he can still tell me what to do.”
Maya blinked. She had never heard Evan talk like this. It wasn’t angry—it was controlled anger, the kind people develop when they’ve had this same fight a hundred times.
“Does he know about the break you’re thinking about?” she asked.
“No.”
“Would he be mad?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I don’t care about that part.” He paused. “What I care about is that he’ll assume I’m doing it because I’m overwhelmed. Or irresponsible. Or distracted.”
“Are you any of those?”
“No.”
“Then he’s wrong.”
Evan didn’t respond, but his grip on the wheel relaxed a little.
They turned onto a quieter road. Maya watched the buildings blur.
“So what do you need from me?” she asked.
“I want you there.”
She blinked. “In the meeting?”
“No.” He almost laughed. “God, no. Just… today. Before it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
She waited.
Evan finally said, “I just don’t want to go into the meeting alone.”
Maya sat back slowly. He wasn’t asking for advice. He wasn’t asking for solutions. He was asking for presence.
She wasn’t used to people choosing her for that.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Evan nodded once, like he’d been holding that question in his throat all morning.
He parked near Rivergate West, outside a building she’d never seen him go into. It wasn’t the main office. It looked older, more serious, like it belonged to someone who wanted to appear important.
“Your father’s office?” she asked.
“No.” Evan unbuckled his seatbelt. “He hates offices. He likes conference rooms.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It is.”
He didn’t get out immediately. He rested his hands on the steering wheel, breathing once—controlled, even.
“Maya,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“If I come out looking angry, don’t take it personally.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re the only person I see after these.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Not without sounding like she cared too much or not enough.
So she said, “I’ll be here.”
He nodded, opened the door, and stepped out. She stayed in the car, watching him walk into the building—shoulders tense, steps steady, the kind of posture that belonged to someone bracing for impact.
She hated how much she wanted to follow him inside.
She hated how much she couldn’t.
She hated how she suddenly cared about whatever his father thought of him.
She stared at the windshield and whispered, “What am I doing?”
She didn’t have an answer.
Her phone buzzed.
It wasn’t Evan.
It was Zoe.
**Did he show up again??**
Maya typed:
**not now zoe**
**THAT MEANS YES**
**stop**
**ARE YOU WITH HIM RIGHT NOW**
Maya closed her eyes.
**ZOE STOP TEXTING**
Zoe sent a single emoji:
👀
Maya groaned into her hands.
Then the building door opened.
Evan stepped out.
His expression was unreadable, which somehow worried her more than if he looked upset.
He opened the car door and sat down without saying anything.
Maya waited.
He didn’t speak.
She waited more.
Nothing.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Blink twice if you’re alive.”
That broke the tension. His shoulder dropped half an inch. “Alive.”
“That’s one blink.”
“Sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Not now.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again.
“Maya,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here.”
A quiet stretched between them—not heavy, not awkward. Just real.
Then Evan put the car in drive.
“Where are we going?” Maya asked.
“Somewhere I can think.”
“And I’m just… coming with?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t make noise.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Not the kind that bothers me.”
She looked out the window so he wouldn’t see her face.
Something was changing.
Something she couldn’t name yet.
And it scared her.
A lot.
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