Selena

Delilah's cafe is quiet, though that makes sense. It's early afternoon and most people would've already swarmed here this morning.

I chose the time on purpose. The less people who see me right now, the less chance Benedict had of finding where I am and cornering me.

I'm not ready for that. Not yet.

I hesitate with my hand on the door.

Then I push it open.

The bell jingles.

Delilah looks up from behind the counter and freezes.

Her smile falters for half a second. Just long enough.

"Selena?"

"Hi," I say, suddenly nervous. Which is ridiculous. It's just a café. It's just Delilah.

She doesn't ask what I'm doing here. Doesn't ask why. She comes around the counter instead and pulls me into a hug like it's instinct, like her body made the decision before her brain did.

"You okay?" she asks quietly, into my hair.

I nod. It's not a lie. Not entirely.

She pulls back and studies my face, eyes sharp but gentle. Whatever she sees there makes her decision for her.

"Sit," she says. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

She doesn't say anything else while she makes it. Just slides the mug across the table when she's done and sits down across from me like she's cleared the rest of her schedule without telling anyone.

"So," she says lightly. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," I say honestly. "I didn't realise how much you'd changed it."

It used to be a sporting goods store, boring, basic. Now it was the epitome of Antique and country charm. Brass decor, fresh baked goods, a floral mural on the back wall. Worn aged timber. Mismatched chairs that felt cozy.

Devilish looks around with a smile. "I'm collecting more as I go but I'm very happy with it so far."

There's a pause. Comfortable. Unforced.

"I was wondering," I say finally, "if you had any work going." Nerves come alight in my stomach. I add on quickly. "Even casual."

She doesn't answer straight away.

Instead, she stands, grabs an apron from behind the counter, and drapes it over the back of the chair beside me.

"I've got shifts," she says. "You want them?"

Relief hits fast. "Yes."

"Can you start now?"

Just like that.

No questions. No concern dressed up as curiosity. No what happened to you.

"I don't know what's going on," Delilah adds, beginning to wipe down the counter nearby, "but you don't have to explain anything to earn a paycheck."

My throat tightens. "Thank you."

She waves it off. "Friends don't need context."

The bell jingles again.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite coffee witch."

Delilah groans without looking up. "You are not allowed to talk until you've paid, Carson."

The guy leaning against the counter is tall, broad-shouldered, jacket half-zipped like he wants attention. He's already smiling.

"Nonsense," he says cheerfully. "And I'm here to flirt and fail."

"You've succeeded at one of those," Delilah says dryly.

He laughs and orders his coffee, eyes never leaving her.

I recognise him vaguely. Hockey. Maddens teammate. That's it - because his focus is entirely on Delilah.

"So," he says, elbows on the counter. "You ever going to let me take you out?"

"No."

He blinks. "Hard no or playful no?"

"Professional no," she says. "I'm working."

"I'll wait."

"You always do."

He grins like that's flirting. "Persistence is attractive."

"You're exhausting."

"Charming," he corrects.

She slides his coffee toward him. "You're a player."

"And?"

"And I'm a reformed hoe," she says flatly. "I've got an image to maintain."

I choke on my coffee.

Carson laughs like that's the highlight of his day. "Respect."

He finally glances at me. "Hey."

"Hey." I say softly, looking between the two of them like a tennis match.

He looks right back to Delilah. "Same time, tomorrow?"

"You turn up regardless of what I say."

"What can I say, annoyance looks stunning on you," he says, backing toward the door. "See you then."

When he's gone, I grin. "He's... a lot."

"I know," Delilah says. "Persistent."

"And confident."

"And annoying," she adds. "But harmless."

The afternoon settles into an easy rhythm.

She shows me where things are. Lets me wipe tables. Doesn't hover. Doesn't make a big deal of anything. Music hums softly from the speakers. The Chicks 'there's your trouble' playing softly.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I ignore it.

It buzzes again.

I glance down. Missed calls. Messages stacking up. Benedict. The messages are getting worse.

Delilah notices.

She reaches over without ceremony and flips my phone facedown on the counter.

"You don't owe anyone your attention, especially a man," she says.

I blink. "How do you know it's a him?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's always a man."

I laugh, surprised by how easily it comes.

She slides a cup toward me. "Back to work."

I nod.

"Okay," I say.

And pick it up.