Page 152 of I Think They Love You

In the dark, hands shaking, Denz scrolls through the thread of messages from Formerly Known As Bray. He starts, then deletes new texts. One after another.Hello,thenI miss you.Finally,I’d do it all over again, no regrets.

He never sends any of them.

He flings his phone across the sheets. He sinks into the abyss of his comforter. With every movement, the shattered debris of his heart rattles around his chest.

Exhaustion pulls him under every few hours before thunder startles his eyes open. Each time, he finds his pillow damp from more tears. He flips it over.

Denz stares out at a cement-gray Atlanta that still looks more colorful and promising than the void growing inside him.

He waits for the ache to start all over again.

It’s never late.

By Wednesday morning, after the sun finally peels the charcoal gray off the sky, Denz decides he needsrealfood: a blueberry muffin from Crema.

“Uh, Denz?”

It’s after 11:00A.M., and the café’s reasonably empty. Which is good, considering he put zero fucks into his outfit choice: a faded University of Georgia T-shirt, black joggers, and old Nikes. What he didn’t sign up for is the weird, surprised look Matty’s giving him from behind the bar. He managed to shower without crying today. Denz is taking every win he can get.

Matty rereads the name on the drink he just finished. “You ordered a—”

“Don’t start with me,” Denz grunts. He grabs the cup, then pauses, sighing. “Sorry. Thanks, Matty. For the drink. And putting up with my shit.”

He walks away before Matty can reply. Or spontaneously combust.

Denz pointedly avoids that one corner table, settling for a circular one in the middle of the café. Within seconds, the tightness in his chest returns. This used to behisplace. Monday muffin runs, afternoons taking photos for the company’s socials or client meetings near the picturesque windows. Now it’s the bar where he ran into Braylon. Weird stares from the barista he hooked up with. The scent of blueberry-lemon scones he can’t stomach.

Denz rips into his muffin.

Whatever. One silly pretend relationship isn’t going to ruin him. He can go back to Unattached Denz. The man he was beforeJanuary. But when he sips from his cup, he realizes asking Mindy to surprise him with a drink of her choice was a horrific mistake.

At the back of his throat, he tastes notes of citrus. The sweetness of honey. He turns the cardboard cup around to read what’s written on it:

DARJEELING TEA.

Tears mist his eyes. He considers tossing the cup. Or hugging it close, just to have a piece of Braylon still. Denz does neither. He’s too distracted by who slips into the chair across from him.

“So,” Kenneth says, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sits, “this is where the cool kids spend their lunch hour.”

Denz stares at his dad like it’s been weeks, not days, since they last saw each other. He seems different. Denz decides it’s the relaxed shoulders, no longer carrying the weight of his company’s future.

Kenneth pushes his glasses up, inspecting Denz. “Eva would have a lot to say right now.”

“Doesn’t she always?” He winces. That was harsh, even for him. Evidently, he’s too miserable, too depleted to filter his thoughts. “Sorry, I—”

“No, you’re right. She’s always been like that,” Kenneth interjects. “Did you know she tried to dress me for prom? Like I don’t have taste.”

“Didn’t you wear a powder-blue tux?”

“Damn right.”

Denz snorts. Absently, he takes another sip of tea. “Maybe, just that one time, you should’ve listened.”

Amusement tweaks the corners of his dad’s mouth. “What’re you drinking?”

“Oh. Tea?”

Kenneth leans forward, conspiratorially whispering, “Is this a cry for help? Are you being held hostage? Is this why you’re hiding in a coffee shop instead of coming to work?”

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