After surviving the supermarket, we head to a nearby diner.
The diner looked exactly like it hadn't been renovated since the late '90s—and I mean that in the most comforting way. Red vinyl booths, a jukebox that blinked like it had seen things, and laminated menus that smelled like maple syrup trauma.
We slid into a booth near the window, me on one side, Raven on the other. I clutched the menu like it was a shield. He barely glanced at his before setting it down.
"You already know what you're getting?" I asked.
He smirked. "I know what you're getting."
I narrowed my eyes. "No you don't."
"You're going to get waffles. With whipped cream. And extra syrup. And pretend it's ironic."
"I'm unpredictable," I said.
"You're textbook," he said, then added, "with excellent taste."
Rude. Accurate. I ordered the waffles.
He ordered eggs and toast, which was offensive, but whatever.
When the waitress walked off, I leaned back into the booth and launched into a story about the time Tiana convinced me to climb through our school's drama department window at midnight just to retrieve her glitter notebook before the janitor threw it away.
"She made me wear all black," I said, mid-laugh. "Like stealth mode would cancel out the fact that I was screaming because I stepped on a mousetrap."
"You broke in?" he asked, genuinely amused.
"I reluctantly broke in," I corrected. "There's a difference. One is criminal. The other is loyal."
He laughed—shoulders and everything. "I didn't know you were the type."
I sipped my water dramatically. "What type?"
"The 'willing to commit B&E for a glitter notebook' type."
"She drew a very detailed comic of a girl turning into a majestic raccoon queen in that notebook. It was important art."
He leaned back, smiling at me in that way that made me forget how air worked.
"That's cute," he said, casual.
And then, casually-casually—like he didn't know he was detonating a verbal grenade—he added, "I think my friend Jamie would like Tiana. He goes for that kind of bold, chaotic energy."
I blinked.
My brain rebooted. Systems not responding.
He had a friend.
A friend who could potentially like Tiana.
Which meant—what?
Was that… matchmaking?
Did he think Tiana was his type because… I wasn't?
Or worse—did that mean I was safe to be around? Like some sibling-adjacent girl-child?
My mouth smiled before I could stop it. "Tiana is a lot. You sure he's got the stamina?"
"Oh yeah," he said with a smirk. "Jamie can handle a storm."
I nodded like I wasn't internally combusting.
Cool. So Raven thought Tiana was the kind of girl you date. And me? What was I? The sidekick? The narrator? The girl you take to pick out your trash bags?
"You okay?" he asked, picking up his drink.
"Me?" I said too quickly. "Totally. Just processing the image of Jamie getting glitter-bombed on a first date."
He chuckled, biting into toast like this was a normal conversation.
The waitress returned with our plates, thank God.
I drowned my waffles in syrup and pretended they were a personality trait.
We ate.
Mostly in silence now.
I wasn't sure how to recover from the mini-glitch.
Not because I liked him—shut up, I didn't—but because there was something about that comment that rearranged the furniture in my chest.
Like he saw me as something fixed. Defined. Already boxed and labeled.
And I wasn't sure if I hated that or not.
"You're quiet all of a sudden," Raven said.
I shrugged, trying to focus on the syrup swirl on my plate. "Just mentally preparing a dating application for Tiana."
He smiled faintly.
But I caught it.
A flicker of something in his eyes.
Like he knew exactly what I was doing.
And didn't call me out for it.
__________
The car ride after lunch was a blur of soft music and low-level sugar coma.
I was full of waffles and weird thoughts, sitting quietly in Raven's car with the window cracked just enough to let the afternoon air sneak in. We'd been driving for maybe fifteen minutes when my eyelids got heavy.
Then heavier.
Then gone.
I didn't mean to fall asleep, obviously. I wasn't trying to be the emotionally vulnerable YA heroine who nods off beside the boy she maybe used to have a not-so-platonic foster crush on. But I was full of carbs. And confusion. And emotional whiplash.
So.
I passed out.
I must've been out cold for at least forty minutes because when I blinked awake, we weren't on the road anymore.
The car had stopped.
We were parked in front of a modern-looking apartment complex with glass balconies and polite landscaping. Raven's door was open. He stood outside the car, looking down at me with one hand on the roof.
"Dali," he said, low and kind. "We're here."
I jerked awake like a startled cat. "Wha—I wasn't—sleeping."
He smirked. "Totally. You were deep in philosophical meditation."
I wiped my mouth like there might be syrup residue. "I'm an intellectual. I dream about algebra."
"You snored," he said.
"I did not."
"You did. Softly. Like a baby pug."
I buried my face in my hoodie sleeve. "This is fine. Everything's fine."
We carried the bags up seven floors—because naturally, the elevator was broken. By floor five, I was sure I was going to die surrounded by bulk paper towels and off-brand Tupperware.
His condo was at the end of the hallway, door already propped open from when he unlocked it ahead of me. The place was bigger than I expected. Minimalist but clean. Open windows. A half-assembled coffee table sat like an awkward guest in the living room.
"This is… adult," I said.
"Working on it," Raven replied, grabbing a lamp and stepping inside.
I followed him in, juggling three grocery bags, a candle that smelled like pine guilt, and a vague sense of disorientation. The hallway behind us echoed softly with our footsteps.
Until it didn't.
Because a second door opened.
Across the hall.
Another apartment.
Out stepped a guy—tall, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, and grinning like he'd been waiting for someone to ask him to star in a cologne commercial.
He looked at Raven. "You made it."
Raven smiled. "Barely. Elevator's out."
Jamie's eyes flicked to me. "And this is…?"
"Dali," Raven said, dropping the bag on the counter. "She's helping me haul civilization into the apartment. Dali, meet Jamie."
Jamie extended a hand. His grip was firm. His grin? Weaponized.
"Nice to meet you," he said. "You're not secretly also here to judge Raven's moon lamp obsession, are you?"
"Only if we're allowed to stage an intervention."
He laughed, stepping closer. He had Doberman energy—that charming, playful-but-could-break-your-kneecaps-if-needed thing. Confident, but not obnoxious. A little too smooth.
Definitely the friend Raven mentioned.
My brain whirred.
Tiana.
He thinks Tiana would be into this.
Would she? I mean, probably. He was practically genetically engineered to flirt with waitresses and own tasteful leather jackets.
As Jamie took one of the heavier bags from my hands, I realized I had absolutely no idea what to do with my face.
"I like her," Jamie said to Raven over his shoulder. "She's feisty."
I rolled my eyes. "And now I'm a labrador retriever. Great."
Jamie winked. "With better comebacks."
Raven didn't say anything.
But he was watching. A little too quietly.
⸻
Jamie insisted on helping carry everything inside.
And by "insisted," I mean he grabbed three bags at once like some sort of suburban Hercules and said, "I can't let Dali out-muscle me on my own floor."
I snorted. "Too late."
Raven just shook his head, unlocking the door fully and letting us in. "Be careful with the eggs."
"Be careful with your face," Jamie replied. "It's stuck on brooding mode."
Inside, the apartment turned into a sort-of controlled disaster. Grocery bags exploded across the counter. Pots clanged. Boxes opened. One chair almost lost a leg. I stacked canned beans in a precarious pyramid, partly because it was satisfying and partly because I needed something to do besides analyze everything.
Jamie made it a point to stand close. Not in a creepy way—just that casual, effortless kind of close some guys don't even realize they're doing. His shoulder brushed mine twice. Once when he reached for the paper towels. Again when he leaned over to grab a mug.
He cracked jokes. Teased Raven. Called me "Red," even though my hoodie was dark green.
"You seem like the kind of girl who'd rig a vending machine to get extra chips," he said at one point.
"I am the kind of girl who built a remote-controlled hook to retrieve the stuck ones," I replied, not missing a beat.
He grinned. "Knew it."
Raven was quieter.
He worked efficiently, unloading silverware, arranging toiletries. He didn't say much. But he glanced over at us a few times. Short looks. Flickers. Like he was listening more than watching. Like he was…observing.
And I couldn't figure out why it made my heart thump weird.
When we finished, the sun had shifted. Late afternoon light spilled in across the floor, turning everything gold. Raven stretched, cracked his neck, and muttered something about needing to build shelves before dark.
Jamie checked his watch. "I should head out. Got a thing tonight."
He turned to me, all smile and sincerity. "It was really cool meeting you, Dali."
"Yeah," I said. "You too."
"I hope I see you again soon," he added—slower this time.
Just a beat longer than casual.
I blinked. "Sure. You know where to find my grocery bags."
He laughed. "And your sarcasm."
Raven walked him to the door with a half-smile, half-sigh.
When it clicked shut, the apartment suddenly felt louder in its quiet.
Neither of us spoke for a second.
Then Raven cleared his throat. "He's a lot."
"You mean charming, helpful, and emotionally well-adjusted?" I asked.
"I mean loud," Raven said, going back to the counter to collect receipts.
We didn't talk much after that.
The ride home was silent. But not tense. Just… muffled.
My head leaned against the window. I stared out at trees and rooftops, letting the rhythm of the road drown out the questions I didn't want to ask myself.
Was Raven quiet because he was tired?
Or because he'd watched me laugh at Jamie?
Why did I care?
Why did it feel like I was standing at the edge of something without knowing if it was a cliff or a doorway?
When we got home, it was already dark.
Aunt Fiona had left dinner out—rice, stew, vegetables. Jayden was MIA, probably in his room committing video game war crimes. Uncle Dave was watching a football rerun.
Raven and I ate in comfortable silence.
Forks scraping. Clock ticking.
And then we went to bed.
Just like that.
No drama. No final line.