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Space.

Anything that isn’t Dean watching me closely enough to realize I’m lying.

“Have a good night,” I tell him, backing toward the door. “See you around.”

“Blair—”

“I’m fine,” I insist, forcing a smile. “Really.”

I leave before he can ask anything else.

The cool air hits my face the second I step outside. I walk several feet from the café before stopping beside my car and releasing the breath trapped inside my chest.

See you around?

Does anxiety make me an even bigger dork than usual?

My phone chimes inside my bag.

I stiffen.

For a moment, I can’t make myself reach for it.

Then I pull it out and look at the screen.

UNKNOWN: Hey, Blair, it’s Bill from The Breakwater. Would you mind starting an hour early tonight?

I read the message twice.

Bill.

It was only Bill.

A shaky laugh escapes me as some of the pressure leaves my chest.

I must never have saved his number. He took mine when I filled out the employment paperwork, but this is the first time he’s contacted me directly.

My body doesn’t care about that explanation.

My pulse is still racing. My palms are still damp.

I save his number before replying.

ME: No problem. I’m already in town, so I’ll head over now.

I slide the phone back into my bag and rest both hands against the roof of the Kombi.

The old instincts of Blair Collins are still buried inside me, waiting for an unknown number to drag them back to the surface.

I might be Blair Morgan now.

But apparently, my body hasn’t learned the difference yet.

* * *

Two hours into my shift, The Breakwater is packed, and I’m starting to understand why Bill looked so relieved when I agreed to come in early.

Logan and Mallory claimed two stools at the end of the bar almost an hour ago, and between drink orders, I’ve somehow been pulled into an ongoing argument about whether Logan cheated during a game of pool last weekend.