Page 14 of Unreasonably Yours

Cillian

My palms are sweating. Actually fucking sweating.

I shoot a text to my group chat with Lucy and Oliver.

Is this overkill?

I flick my lighter open and closed, pulling nicotine deep into my lungs while I wait for one of them to respond.

Oliver

Overkill? Why would it be overkill?

Lucy

It isn't overkill. Stop overthinking this.

Their responses are on brand, as always. Oliver, introspective. Lucy, direct. Both are probably right.

I stamp out my cigarette and duck into the coffee shop.

In the fall, this place will have a line out the door. For now, the summer lull tempered the crowd to a comfortable level of busy.

“Hey!” Jac greets me with a wave. I return the gesture. “Usual?”

“That'd be great, thanks.” I glance down at my phone.

Toni

I’m running a few minutes late because of who I am as a person. Sorry!

“You good?” Jac asks as they make my tea.

I huff. “Do I look bad?”

They chuckle. “Not bad. Nervous. But like, cute shelter dog who just wants a belly rub, nervous.”

That pulls an unexpected laugh out of me. “I don't know if I should be offended.”

“Everyone loves shelter dogs.” They lean on the counter while my tea steeps. “What's up?”

I sigh. “I’m showing a new friend who just moved here around the city.”

“Friend or friend ,” they emphasize the last word.

“Friend,” I assure. “We have a bit of a bet going that I can get her to move here permanently.”

“If you lose?”

“I have to help her move wherever she ends up going next. So it could be a very pricy loss.”

“Would I know this friend?”

“You actually sent her over to the bar for coffee. Cute redhead. Plus size.”

“Toni!” They exclaim with such enthusiasm that I almost take a step back. Clearly, Toni has been making an impression on more than just me.

“That's her. Actually...You wouldn't happen to know her coffee order, would you?”

Jac grins. “I would happen to. One sec.” They step away, the espresso machine hissing and return with two cups in hand .

“Your usual. And one cold brew with a shot of espresso and a half pump of simple syrup.”

My brows rise. “Seriously?”

They nod. “The woman does not fuck around with her caffeine.” They hand over the drinks. “Or her tips. This is on the house.”

“Jac—”

They push my card away. “Just get out of here and show her a good time. I could use another quality regular.”

“I'll do my best!” I promise, flinging $10 at them and moving for the door before they can try to give it back to me.

“So sorry!” Toni huffs as she jogs up to me.

Sundresses should be illegal.

My caveman brain registers how fine this woman looks before I can form a coherent response. The black button-up dress flows over her curves, complementing rather than diminishing them. And that hemline…

I swallow hard.

“I—” She begins. Rather than let her explain unnecessarily, I cut her off by holding her coffee in front of her face. “If this is what I think it is, I might kiss you.”

“What it is, is a drink with enough caffeine to level a bear.”

“We all have our vices. At least mine makes me moderately functional.” She takes a sip, lashes fluttering with satisfaction. “How did you know my order?”

“Courtesy of Jac,” I confess.

“Remind me to kiss Jac next time I'm in there.”

“Will do.”

She looks at my drink. “What do you have?”

“Iced green tea with honey.” She screws up her face like I’d said something vile. As cute as it is, I still protest, “It's good!”

“Keep telling yourself that. So . . . where are you taking me?”

“Are you opposed to being surprised?” As someone who isn't a big fan of surprises, I can understand preferring to know.

“Not necessarily. I'm just impatient.”

“I remember.” I relish the way she blushes. “Anyway, we are about to take the Red Line, so...” I let my words drag off.

“That means absolutely nothing to me.”

I lead us to the platform. “Our train system. It is functional, but she's an old girl. Your patience will be tested.”

She shrugs. “Somewhat functional is better than nonexistent. I've never lived somewhere with even half-decent public transit.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Yeah. The town I grew up in quite literally has one stoplight. And everywhere I’ve landed since has had mediocre options at best.”

“I'm sure you at least got into less trouble in your one-stoplight town than we did here.”

Toni scoffs. “In the sticks you've got very few choices for entertainment outside of illicit substances, fucking, and church.” I muffle a laugh. “And you'd be surprised how often those three things intersected. We got into plenty of trouble.”

To my absolute delight, Toni opens up. She tells me about her hometown, hitchhiking back roads with her friends, pasture parties, and the local boudin man. A different world from the one that made me.

Notably, she doesn't say much about her family. In fact, her parents or brother hardly make an appearance. Given what she'd said about her parents before, I assume they're off limits. But her brother had helped her move, so I’m a little surprised at his absence in her tales.

We're almost to our final stop when I ask, “Did your brother leave town after high school?” I knew he was significantly older than her, so it would make sense.

“Oh, no. He grew up with his mom in Louisiana. When I was really little, he came out for some holidays and summer weekends, but that stopped when I was about six.”

“Why?”

She goes for a dismissive shrug, but I see the way her body tenses. “Nothing crazy. A painfully cliche white trash domestic unfolded, and he didn't have to come back.”

Nothing crazy. I don't believe that, but I am also not going to push the topic. And we’re at our stop anyway.

The public garden is in full summer glory. Everywhere you look, vibrant greens glow while flowers lend pops of color. On the pond, a few folks are even out in the swan boats. It’s an image worthy of a postcard. Even I'm impressed.

“It's no Central Park,” I say, leading us to the shoreline of the pond. “But it has its own charm.”

“It's lovely,” Toni says, soaking in everything. “Do you mind if I-” She pulls a sketch pad from her bag.

Satisfaction explodes in my chest. “Not at all. I figured this might be the kind of place you'd like to sketch.” I take a set of pastels and pencils from my bag, offering them to her.

She looks from the tools to me and back. “Cillian...”

“I didn’t know what you typically use, so I got some tips from Lucy. But I wasn’t sure if you'd have anything with you, so just in case.”

“They're perfect.” Toni takes them, eyes wide. “Thank you. I won't keep us long, I just want to get a general?—”

“We can stay as long as you want.” I pull a pocket picnic blanket from my bag. As I lay it out, she doesn't move, just stares at me, almost confused.

I sit and gesture for her to join me.

“Won't you be bored?” She asks.

“Nope.” I pull out my book, but she still doesn't move.

“Toni.” I lower my voice a touch, hoping to gently command her attention. “Sit down. Or walk around. Whatever you want to do. But you can't just stand there staring at me.”

That breaks the spell. She settles beside me, her exposed thigh pressed against my pant leg.

I can’t resist giving her thigh a squeeze as I lean over to whisper in her ear, “Good girl.”

A bright laugh tumbles from her lips as another blush colors her round cheeks. “Oh, fuck you.” She playfully pushes me away.

“Can dish it but not take it?” That, “Yes, Sir ” she left me on the other night has been burning in my mind ever since.

“Oh,” she purrs. “I'm very good at taking it.”

“We'll see about that.” I open my book and gesture to the view before I do anything too foolish.

Silence has always been my mother tongue. So much so that my parents worried something was wrong when I was a kid. Nothing was; I just never felt the need to fill the void like everyone else seemed to. It's a trait that hasn't historically served me well in the human connection department.

After a time, it becomes clear Toni is just as fluent in silence as I am. The quiet that falls between us isn't just comfortable, it's easy. So easy that before I know it, more than an hour has passed and my stomach is growling.

Toni's hand still moves across the page, stealing inspiration from the scene before her, transmuting it into something more enchanting than the reality could ever be.

“That's beautiful,” I say.

I catch her half-smile. “It's just a sketch.”

“Do you always take compliments so well?”

“What was it you called music? Just a hobby?”

I can't even be butt-hurt about that. “Touché.”

She stretches, letting herself fall back onto the blanket, eyes on the blue summer sky above us. I can't look away .

“This was great. Thank you.” In the sunlight, her eyes are almost auburn. Rich and warm and...

I clear my throat. “We’re not done yet.”