I crossed the street. The bell above the café door jingled as I stepped in, and the warm scent of coffee wrapped around me. Delilah looked up, her eyes meeting mine—tired, slightly red from whatever had just gone down.
She exhaled, almost in relief but too stubborn to show it.
Without saying a word, I took my lighter from my pocket, flicked it open, and held the flame out. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned in. The cigarette caught, glowing softly between her lips.
"Thanks," she murmured, smoke slipping from her mouth.
I nodded, pocketing the lighter before sliding into the seat across from her. "You looked like you could use a spark."
She smirked faintly at that, shaking her head. "My god. Please leave."
"Fine, fine. No more bad jokes."
A waiter drifted over, young kid, apron too big for him, dark circles under his eyes. "What can I get for you two?" he asked.
"Just a glass of water," Delilah said, voice low.
"Nothing for me," I added.
