"Oh yes, heaven forbid anyone discover Rafael Moreno has feelings!" she teased, bumping her shoulder against mine.
May pushed through the swinging door then, carrying a paper bag that smelled like heaven. "Cheese rolls," she announced, handing them to me. "Still warm."
"You're a goddess among mortals." I told her honestly, making her laugh.
"Flattery will get you everywhere." May turned to Sam. "Did you take your evening meds yet?"
I pretended not to notice the flash of irritation that crossed Sam's face. "Not yet," she muttered. "I will before bed."
"Do it now." May insisted. "You know the schedule is important."
An awkward silence fell as Sam disappeared upstairs to their apartment above the bakery. May sighed, running a hand through her hair.. a gesture so similar to Sam's it was uncanny despite their different coloring.
"Her asthma acting up again?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
May gave me a strange look, something like guilt mixed with sadness. "Something like that. Has she seemed okay to you lately? During your... adventures?"
The hesitation told me May knew about our midnight swim. "She's been fine," I said, not entirely truthfully. I'd noticed Sam getting winded more easily, taking longer to recover after exertion, but I'd attributed it to the summer heat. "I keep an eye on her."
"I know you do," May said softly. "Just... keep doing that, okay?"
Before I could ask what she meant, my phone buzzed with a text from my father.
{ Flight delayed. Back Thursday instead of Tuesday. Food money in usual account. }
The familiar mixture of disappointment and relief washed over me. Disappointment because some pathetic part of me still hoped he'd suddenly transform into a real father, relief because his presence always filled our house with a tension that made it hard to breathe.
"Everything okay?" May asked, noticing my expression.
"Fine." I said automatically, pocketing my phone. "Dad's trip got extended."
May's face softened with understanding. She'd been looking out for me almost as long as she'd been looking out for Sam, feeding me when my father was gone, which was most of the time. "You know you're always welcome here, Raf."
"Thanks."
I mumbled, uncomfortable with her kindness.
Sam returned, visibly annoyed at being sent away like a child but seemingly calmer. "Happy now?" she asked May, who nodded.
"I should get going," I said, standing. "Early shift tomorrow."
"I'll walk you out," Sam offered, following me through the bakery.
Outside, the summer evening had cooled slightly, stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Sam leaned against the brick wall, looking up at the emerging constellations.
"You'll be alone again?" she asked quietly.
"I'm used to it," I shrugged. "House to myself means loud music and no lectures about my 'lack of direction.'"
Sam frowned, her eyes still on the stars. "You know, you could..."
"Could what?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing. Just... call if you need anything, okay?"
"Always do Sunny." I climbed onto Persephone, settling the helmet over my head. "See you tomorrow for ink adventures?"
Her smile returned, a mixture of nervousness and excitement. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
As I drove home through familiar streets, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting between us, something neither of us had acknowledged out loud. The midnight swim, the shared secrets, the way she'd looked at me lately, all of it felt like we were teetering on an edge.
The house was dark when I arrived, exactly as I'd left it that morning. I flipped on lights as I moved through rooms that never quite felt like home, more like a way station where my father and I occasionally crossed paths between his business trips.
In my room, I pulled out a fresh notebook, the words already forming in my mind.
Poetry had been my secret outlet since middle school, something Mrs. Jenkins had encouraged after seeing potential in an angry kid's jumbled thoughts.
I'd never admit it to anyone but Sam, but the words helped make sense of the chaos inside me.
Tonight, I wrote about skin silvered by moonlight, about trust and vulnerability, about the precise shade of honey- brown eyes looking up at stars. I wrote about fear too, fear of change, of loss, of wanting something I wasn't sure I could keep.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of Sam in that lake, but this time when she looked at me with that question in her eyes...
I had the courage to answer.