Kathleen looked down at her coffee. “She was probably being polite.”
“Nah,” Ted said with conviction. “Cass actually got it. No bullshitting. She asked about memory encoding in plants and the conductivity lag at root nodes. I mean—who even knows that stuff?”
Kathleen stared at him. “She actually knew that?”
“You bet.” Ted grinned. “I’m gonna see her after I get off work for coffee.”
“Good for you,” Kathleen murmured, happy for him. He was clearly taken with the girl and she sounded perfect for him. It was a yawning gulf between his story and her own that was depressing. Ava had been dazzling—photogenic, polished, socially fluent. She’d kissed Kathleen in a way that might have made other women invite her in. But not her.
She had gone inside like a frightened rabbit, feeling lonelier than when she left.
An hour later, not being able to concentrate, she stripped off her coat and gloves. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced.
Ted stared at her. “You never go out.”
“Well, I am today,’ she snapped and before any more questions, headed out the door.
The morning showers had cleared and it was a balmy day outside. She stood on the edge of the curb, unsure where to go, then turned left in the direction of the library. It was familiar;she’d been that route many times. She walked with her hands in her pockets, staring slightly upward, past the traffic lights and the awning of the dry cleaner.
The air smelled like roasting chestnuts and faint car exhaust, and there was a florist on the corner she’d never looked at properly before. She paused, eyeing a bucket of wrapped tulips on the pavement. On a whim, she went in and ordered a large arrangement to be delivered at her house at five-thirty.
Further along, she reached a café she’d passed often but never entered. It was always too noisy, too cramped. The idea of standing at the counter while someone waited for her to choose filled her with a quiet dread.
Today, though, she stepped through the door.
The scents hit her first: strong espresso, warm pastries, and a whiff of someone’s perfume. The cafe was lined with timber shelves and a chalkboard menu above the counter. Two couples sat near the window, murmuring over half-eaten croissants.
The barista looked up and gave her a quick, pleasant nod.
Kathleen swallowed. “Flat white, please,” she said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “And a blueberry muffin.”
The woman typed in the price and she tapped her card.
Kathleen scanned the room as she waited. The round lights strung across the ceiling, and ferns draped around the walls were designed to make the customer feel relaxed.
When her name was called, she took the cup and muffin to a table by the window. After taking a seat, she wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the heat sink into her palms. She stared at the foam of her drink. It had swirled into an accidental spiral—imperfect, like someone had rushed the pour. Normally, the lack of symmetry would bother her. The sloppiness. Now it felt human.
She sipped. It was nice, just how she liked it. She thought about Ted meeting someone who made him laugh. He talkedabout Cass like she was a small miracle wrapped in Coke and sci-fi trivia.
Different from her. She had gone home wondering if the person she wanted was simply the only one who’d ever made it easy.
After her coffee was finished, she sat there was a while longer before she headed back to work. When she returned to the lab, her mind was no clearer. Her hands still fidgeted in her pockets, but she didn’t feel like the silence around her was closing in.
She pulled on her gloves, adjusted the monitoring interface, and stared blankly at the calibration data. The numbers scrolled as they always did—fluid, obedient, endlessly rational.
She didn’t key in a single command, her mind elsewhere.
Not on Ava. She had come and gone like a bright falling star, sparkling in a burst but without substance to last.
Veronica… she lingered.
Kathleen sat down slowly, smoothing the crease in her lab coat and pressing the heels of her hands against her knees. She didn’t want to ring the agency yet. Not so soon. It felt desperate. She could still hear the pity in her mother’s voice if she ever found out:You paid someone to take you out?I wish you would date like normal people, love. You have so much to offer someone.
As if she hadn’t tried.
As if she hadn’t been working her entire life to get tothispoint where she finally felt like herself around someone. Yes, the agency was expensive. Obscenely so. The kind of cost that made her feel vaguely guilty, like indulging in an expensive French champagne.
But then she dismissed the thought. She could afford it. She had never spent her income on frivolities. No designer clothes, no overseas trips, no spa retreats or renovated kitchens. She lived in a sensible apartment, paid cash for everything,and forgot her own birthday most years. She’d maxed out her retirement contributions by thirty, invested her grant money in cautious, diversified portfolios, and let it quietly compound. Her net worth was frankly ridiculous for someone who still washed her own lab mugs.
