Rachel Ellis told herself she was not waiting.

  She was simply leaving at a reasonable time to do a reasonable errand like a reasonable adult, and it just so happened that she paused in the lobby for a moment to adjust her bag, check her phone, and make sure her face looked like a person who was fine.

  The glass doors reflected her back at herself—glasses, cardigan, a neutral expression that was always on-call.

  She could have gone. She had her wallet. She had her bag. She had no reason to still be here except—

  The doors opened.

  Noah Bennett stepped in from the street with the unhurried calm of someone who never had to sprint for transit in heels.

  Rachel’s pulse did something small and annoying, like it was pleased to be proven correct and some other mysterious, unnamed reason.

  He was dressed the way he always was—plain, practical, clean—nothing flashy, and somehow it still made her brain do that irritating little notice. His hair was slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it on the walk over. He had a tote bag slung over one shoulder that looked like it belonged to work rather than shopping, and for reasons Rachel refused to interrogate, the detail made him feel more real.

  He saw her and smiled, easy and familiar now in a way that should not have developed this quickly.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” Rachel replied, and was mildly annoyed that she sounded brighter than she’d intended.

  Noah’s gaze flicked to her bag. “Heading out?”

  Rachel’s brain offered, unhelpfully, a memory of his dining table and the second chair pulled out. She stepped on it mentally.

  “Yes,” she said. “Coffee.”

  Noah’s expression shifted—interested, but not pushy. “Always a good plan.”

  Rachel took a breath. This was the part where she was supposed to be normal.

  She had said thank you, of course, but accepting the meal without a counter-offer felt like an unforced blunder on her journey to be a self-sufficient adult. While she clearly wasn't there yet, she could at least attempt to ensure the scales remained somewhat balanced while she figured it out.

  So.

  She adjusted her grip on her bag like it was armor. “You—uh,” she began, and immediately hated the hesitation. “I was thinking. About the other night.”

  Noah’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Okay.”

  Rachel rushed forward before she could lose her nerve. “I’d like to buy you a coffee. As… repayment.”

  Noah looked at her for a beat, and Rachel had the familiar, disorienting sense that he was registering more than just her words. Not mind-reading—nothing that dramatic—but a quick, practical understanding of why she was offering and why it mattered.

  “You don’t have to,” he said.

  “I know,” Rachel said immediately. “But I want to.”

  Noah’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Okay,” he said, and the word landed with surprising gentleness. A simple agreement, without polite concession or deflection.

  Rachel’s shoulders eased a fraction, as if her body had been holding a tension it didn’t want to admit.

  They walked out together. Unplanned and unceremonious, the walk happened simply because their doors were close, their timing was close, and their lives had started to overlap in small, ordinary increments.

  Rachel told herself she was perfectly calm about that.

  Outside, King’s Park had that early-evening feel of a neighbourhood that believed in routine. People with tote bags. People with purpose. A couple of students drifting past in university hoodies, loud in the way people were when they didn’t think anyone was listening.

  Noah kept an easy pace beside her—neither too close nor too far—and Rachel noticed, which was irritating, because noticing meant she was paying attention to how considerate he was being, and that was a slippery slope she didn’t have the footwear for.

  The coffee shop was only a few doors down—warm light, a chalkboard sign, the faint drift of roasted beans and sugar. The kind of place that made you believe you were doing something with your life just because you were holding a cup.

  They stepped inside.

  Noah was greeted almost immediately.

  “Hey, Noah.”

  It came from behind the counter with cheerful familiarity, like it was the most normal thing in the world to know his name. The barista—a woman with dark hair twisted up and an expression that suggested she had seen every human awkwardness and survived—looked up and smiled at him.

  Noah smiled back. “Hey, Mia.”

  Rachel’s chest did something small and sharp.

  Not jealousy, she told herself instantly. That would be absurd. It was just surprise—surprise that he had a whole life she knew nothing about. Surprise that he was the kind of person who could say someone’s name like that, like it was nothing. She couldn’t determine why it was surprising, but she filed it there regardless.

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  Mia’s gaze shifted from Noah to Rachel.

  It didn’t just shift. It landed.

  And then, very subtly, Mia’s expression changed into something warm and knowing, like she had just watched the first five minutes of a rom-com and could already tell where it was going.

  Rachel felt heat rise into her cheeks with the speed of a chemical reaction.

  No. Absolutely not. There was nothing to know.

  Mia’s smile widened by a millimeter. “And who’s this?”

  Noah didn’t hesitate. “Rachel. She’s my neighbour.”

  The words were simple. Normal. Innocent.

  Rachel’s blush deepened anyway, because Mia’s eyes flicked between them like she’d been handed confirmation.

  “Hi, Rachel,” Mia said, in the exact tone people used when they were trying very hard not to say oh, hi, Rachel.

  Rachel forced a smile that she hoped looked like pleasant stranger and not woman being emotionally sabotaged by a barista.

  “Hi,” she said, and regretted having a face.

  Noah stepped up to the counter. “Usual?”

  Mia’s eyebrows rose with theatrical innocence. “For you? Always. For—” she looked at Rachel, “—her?”

  Rachel opened her mouth and realized she did not have a usual. She had been in Brookfield for approximately five minutes, and her personality had not yet finished forming.

  Noah glanced at her, waiting without pressure.

  Rachel made a decision based entirely on wanting to look like she belonged here. “Latte,” she said, then—because she could never stop herself from being precise—added, “Not too sweet.”

  Mia nodded solemnly, as if she’d been entrusted with something sacred. “Got it.”

  Noah turned slightly toward Rachel while Mia worked the machine. “How’s move-in going?” he asked quietly, the way you asked someone a real question when you didn’t want it to become a performance.

  Rachel huffed a small laugh. “Slow.”

  Noah’s mouth quirked. “But progressing.”

  “Barely,” Rachel said, and then felt a little ridiculous for how easily the word came out.

  Noah didn’t react like it was ridiculous. He just nodded, as if barely was an acceptable mode of existence.

  Mia set the drinks down with a flourish that was entirely unnecessary.

  “One latte,” she said to Rachel, “not too sweet.”

  “One for Noah,” she added, sliding his cup over with the casual intimacy of habit.

  Then she looked at Rachel again.

  It was the look. The same knowing look, sharpened into a weapon.

  Mia tapped the side of Noah’s cup with a fingernail. “Putting it on your tab?”

  Noah didn’t miss a beat. “Nope,” he said. “She’s buying.”

  Mia’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “Oh?”

  Rachel’s blush threatened to become permanent.

  Noah glanced at Rachel, and there was a faint, almost apologetic amusement in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what Mia was doing and was trying not to let her get away with it completely.

  Rachel held on to that tiny allyship like a lifeline.

  “I insisted,” Rachel said, too quickly.

  Mia’s grin turned downright wicked. “Of course you did.”

  Rachel wanted to dissolve.

  Noah simply took his cup and tilted his head toward a small table by the window. “Want to sit?”

  Rachel’s brain screamed this is a date, immediately corrected itself to this is definitely not a date, and then, enjoying the suffering, added: people sit with coffee all the time.

  “Sure,” Rachel said, like it was nothing.

  Noah took the chair across from her rather than beside her—a choice that felt considerate, yet strangely annoying in a different way.

  Rachel wrapped her hands around her cup. It was warm. It smelled good. The foam was neat. She took a sip and was immediately furious at how much she liked it.

  “This is good,” she admitted.

  Noah’s expression softened slightly. “Mia’s good at what she does.”

  Rachel glanced toward the counter. Mia was making another drink, but her eyes flicked up again and caught Rachel’s for half a second. Mia smiled. Rachel looked away so fast she almost sprained something.

  “So,” Noah said lightly, nodding at her cup. “Verdict on the panic order?”

  Rachel fought off a laugh, unsuccessfully. “Was it that obvious?”

  “You hesitated on the milk. Rookie mistake.”

  Rachel sighed and took another sip. “I don’t have a ‘usual’ yet. Mia asked, and I felt the sudden, crushing pressure to be a person who has strong opinions about foam.”

  Noah’s mouth twitched. “You don’t have opinions about foam?”

  “I have opinions about caffeine,” Rachel corrected. “The delivery method is secondary. But standing there, it felt like a personality test I hadn’t studied for.”

  Noah tilted his cup in a small salute. “Well, you passed. It’s a good latte.”

  “It is,” Rachel admitted. “But next time I’m bringing flashcards.”

  They talked like that for a while—small things, simple things. The building’s quirks. The neighbourhood. The ridiculousness of the recycling dungeon and its lair on parking level 2.

  “So,” Rachel ventured, keeping her voice casual, “you work at the library?”

  Noah nodded. “The Science and Engineering one. Mostly reshelving and explaining the call number system to engineering students who can build a bridge but can’t find the letter Q.”

  “Sounds… peaceful,” Rachel said.

  “It is,” Noah agreed. “The students are stressed, but the books are cooperative. They usually stay where you put them.”

  Rachel huffed a soft laugh. “If you ever find a way to extend that feature to keys, please let me know.” He assured her he would, because of course he did.

  There were pauses, too—little pockets of quiet where they drank and looked out the window and let the ordinary hum of the café fill the space.

  Rachel kept waiting for the awkwardness to arrive, but it never did. Instead, things became... easy. That was the dangerous part. She could handle awkward; awkward was a reason to leave. Easy was a reason to stay.

  Easy was the kind of feeling that made you forget that you were neighbours and strangers and not whatever this was starting to look like, or maybe starting to be.

  For twenty minutes, Rachel forgot to check the time. She forgot to worry about her remaining unpacked boxes. She just sat there, drinking coffee that was slightly too good, with a person who was slightly too observant, and let herself enjoy it slightly too much.

  When they finally finished, Rachel stood with a strange, heavy resistance. Leaving felt correct, but staying with an empty cup felt like asking for more than she was owed.

  Noah followed her out without protest, as if he’d been waiting for her lead.

  Outside, the early evening air had cooled. King’s Park felt close and quiet, like the world was narrowing down to sidewalks and familiar doors.

  They walked back in step, cups discarded, hands empty.

  Rachel told herself that she felt normal, the she felt like an adult, and that she absolutely did not feel anything else when the coffee shop door closed behind them.

  Back in the lobby, they slowed near the elevators.

  Noah glanced at her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Rachel lifted her chin. “You’re welcome,” she said, and was proud she managed not to add thank you for feeding me like I was a lost child.

  The elevator arrived. They stepped in together.

  Rachel stared at the floor indicator as it climbed, because looking at Noah’s face felt dangerous for reasons she still refused to label.

  When the doors opened on their floor, Rachel walked out and slowed near her door. Noah slowed too. For a beat neither of them moved, as if both were waiting to see whether the other would say something that changed the shape of the evening.

  Rachel’s heart did a small, impatient thing in her chest. She mostly hated that.

  “Well,” she said briskly, because brisk was safe. “Good night.”

  Noah nodded. “Night, Rachel.”

  Rachel unlocked her door with careful hands. She stepped inside, turned back, and offered a small smile she meant despite herself.

  Noah was still there, relaxed near his own door like this was normal and he belonged in her evenings now.

  Rachel’s stomach flipped.

  She closed her door gently. Only then did she press the back of her hand to her cheek and discover it was still warm.

  It didn't mean anything, she told herself, thinking of Mia’s knowing look.

  It was just coffee.