I grumble under my breath but don’t argue. I don’t do strays, and I sure as hell don’t do favors. You start with one, and the next thing you know, people are walking all over you. Not Del, of course, but others. How do I know this woman isn’t some opportunist looking to take advantage of good people like Delilah?

“You’re a good judge of character. Go check it out for yourself. If I’m wrong . . .” Del shrugs. “We’ll just give her fare for the bus and send her on her way to Maine.”

I sigh but push off the counter, coffee in hand, making my way toward the table. The moment Blythe notices me moving in her direction, her fingers tense around the mug. Her eyes flick to the door, then to Delilah, then back to me.

She’s already calculating her escape. That alone tells me more about her than anything Del could have said. I don’t sit right away. I pull out the chair across from her but let my hand rest on the back instead, giving her space. Close enough to talk, far enough that she won’t feel trapped.

“Blythe, right?” My voice is even, careful, but I don’t miss the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

She nods, barely perceptible.

“I’m Atlas,” I say, taking a slow sip of my coffee. “Del says you’re looking for work.”

Her throat moves as she swallows, gaze darting past me toward the door. Like she’s expecting someone to walk in at any second. Her fingers tighten around the mug, knuckles going pale.

“I—uh—yeah,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

She’s skittish. Uncertain. And despite my usual instinct to keep people at arm’s length, I know what fear looks like.

And she’s drowning in it.

“Mind if I sit?” I keep my tone light, cautious.

There’s a beat of hesitation before she gives a small nod, gesturing toward the chair. “Go ahead.”

I drop into the seat, stretching my legs out, letting the silence settle between us. Her gaze flicks toward the window again.

“You expecting someone?” I ask.

Her attention snaps back to me, her expression shifting. “No.”

It’s either a lie, or she’s watching her back, making sure no one sees her.

“So, what kind of job are you looking for?”

“Anything,” she says quickly. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible shrug, “I’m good with people. I can clean. Run errands. I’m a fast learner. I would take anything. I just need something consistent, even if it’s not full-time.”

I nod slowly, taking her in. She sounds a little desperate.

“Where are you staying?”

“Umm . . .” Her fingers trace the rim of her mug. “Why do you assume I don’t have an address already?”