Page 12 of Ripple Effect

I snort lightly. “Yeah, he’s a good boy.”

She bounces on her heels, hands tucking into her pockets. “So, are you here all by yourself?”

“Yeah, er, just me and my dog.”

“Do you mind if I join you, then?”

“Ah, I actually need to study this morning.” Her face instantly drops, so I rush to add in, “But you can sit with us if you want.”

I drag another chair to our table, leaving it untucked for her to take a seat. Despite the hesitation, her company doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. It could be nice ... just to have someone to sit with while I pore over my books.

As we settle into a comfortable rhythm, her cheerful chatter begins. “Have you been to this place before? The muffins are to die for,” she says, pointing to the pastry on my tray.

“I’m more of a coffee guy,” I tell her, trying to focus on the screen of my laptop. But it’s hard to ignore her energy, so infectious and bright. “You can have the muffin, though. If you want?”

She giggles, a pleasant melody that seeps into the silence around us. “You know, you’re much softer than you let on.”

I give her a sideways glance, lips curled. “Think so?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s not a bad thing, though. Makes you more ... interesting.”

Something inside me stirs. Her words are simple, but they hold a strange power. I swallow it down. “Yeah, and how about you? Do you ever run out of things to say?”

She shrugs, leveling me with a sheepish grin. “Actually, I’m usually the quiet one in a group. But with you, it’s like I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. Maybe I’m just looking for a distraction or something.” She twirls a strand of her blonde hair between her fingers, nails painted a soft periwinkle blue. “Got a lot on my mind these days.”

A knot of understanding lodges itself in my chest. I’m all too familiar with the sentiment. “Yeah, I know what you—”

“Daisy?” a foreign voice interrupts us, heavy and weary.

I glance up, meeting the gaze of a man who appears out of place, a stark contrast to the calming atmosphere of the café. The sound of her name hangs in the air, a question wrapped in a statement, seeped in confusion.

Daisy, huh? It suits her. Bright and sweet, a wildflower in a field of mundane green. But even still, I’m struck by the realization that I never asked for her name.

“Logan?” Her reaction is swift and startling, body stiffening, eyes wide, as she rises to her feet. The easiness of our conversation dissipates, replaced by an undercurrent of tension that prickles at my skin.

She turns to me, then to the man, a silent plea flickering in her gaze.

“Who’s this?” Logan asks, shifting his attention, suspicion in his eyes.

“This is Elio. We just met the other day,” she finally introduces, her voice a threadbare whisper in the sudden quiet. “Elio, this is Logan, my boyfriend.”

The word falls between us like a dead weight, plunging the moment into an even deeper awkwardness. The silence stretches, lingering, until she finally snaps it.

“I think I need to go. But I’ll see you around, right?” She sounds hopeful, sincere. “And Bentley, too?” She gives him a quick ruffle behind the ears, and he seems to accept her departure with more grace than I do.

I nod, managing to find my voice. “Yeah, you’ll see us around.”

Then she turns and walks away, Logan following in her wake like a lost little puppy. Logan,her boyfriend. I say the words in my head a few more times, trying to reconcile the man in front of me with the images I’d already constructed in my mind.

And somehow, the two of them, it just doesn’t fit.

6

DAISY

The momentwe step out of the café, Logan wraps an arm around me, pulling me into his side. He’s usually affectionate when we’re together, but in this moment, the gesture feels empty, like a desperate attempt to reclaim something we’ve lost.

Despite the uneasy feeling, I let myself lean into him.

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