I claim our usual corner table while Maya orders her matcha with extra everything, and Gracie nervously triple checks themilk options before settling on oat. By the time we’re all seated, Maya leans in like a lioness ready to pounce.
“So. Knox.”
I groan and bury my face in my arms. “Can we not?”
Gracie blinks. “Knox? As in, ourbossKnox?”
I can’t believe she hasn’t heard the whispers yet. I suppose the video has died down a little, and no oneknowsthat anything has happened. But I’m sure the staff at The Marrow must suspect.
But by the look on Gracie’s face, she doesn’t have a clue.
“That’s the one,” Maya says, waggling her eyebrows like she’s narrating a steamy novella. “But Josie finally had her big bad wolf moment, and by the look of her, the man huffed, puffed, and blew her house down.”
My face heats like someone lit a fire under my skin. “You’re the one who dared me to let loose at karaoke night.”
“I was thinking a sloppy make-out or maybe a one-night stand. Not full-on ‘hot chef with a tragic backstory’ territory.”
“He’s not like that,” I say, maybe a little too fast.
Gracie gives me a soft smile, her eyes full of quiet kindness. “Do you like him?”
I pause.
Because yeah. I do. Not just the sex, which was mind-melting, but the way he looks at me. Like I’m not just something to pass the time. Like he sees me. Like he gets that part of me I try to keep buried, the one that wants more, even when I tell myself I don’t deserve it.
“I think I do,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
Maya leans back with a low whistle. “Well damn. Maybe I need to hit up karaoke night again.”
I laugh, the kind that bubbles up and makes my ribs ache. Somehow, with them, everything feels normal. Even when my whole world’s been flipped upside down.
“So,” I say, shifting gears before Maya can start asking about tattoos and orgasms, “you mentioned something about the Spring Melt Market, right? That’s what we’re here to talk about.”
Maya perks up like I just handed her a double shot of espresso with an extra side of validation. “Yes! I’m sketching designs for a capsule collection. Super flirty, mountain girl chic. Think linen jumpsuits, soft wrap skirts, maybe some floral embroidery. If it turns out half as cute as it is in my head, I might finally launch that fashion line I keep talking about.”
Gracie lights up. “You design? I’d love to see!”
Maya winks and reaches for her bag. “I always have them with me.”
She flips it open, spreading the sketchbook between our lattes and scones. The pages are filled with flowing silhouettes, soft fabrics that seem to move even though they’re just pencil lines, and little swatches of color notes scrawled in the margins. There are embroidered mountain wildflowers climbing up a halter dress, a wrap skirt with delicate lace trim, and a cropped jacket that looks like something out of a fairytale.
“Oh wow,” Gracie murmurs, gently turning a page. “These are beautiful.”
“They really are,” I say, meaning it. “Like, these look like something you’d see in an actual boutique.”
Maya shrugs like she’s playing it cool, but I catch the little flicker of pride behind her eyes. “I’ve got ideas. Just need to make them real.”
“You’vealwayshad ideas,” I say, sipping my latte. “You’ve been designing since middle school. Remember when you tried to make me wear a crop top to a middle school dance?”
“It wasvisionary,” Maya declares, flipping her hair dramatically. “You just didn’t have the confidence to rock it yet.”
“I was fourteen!”
“And now look at you.” She winks. “Sleeping with hot chefs and glowing like a glazed donut. We love to see it.”
I cover my face again, laughing so hard I nearly snort. Gracie giggles quietly beside me, and for a second, it feels like the three of us have been doing this for years. Like we’re old friends on the edge of something new.
We fall into that easy rhythm, the kind that only happens when the vibes are right and the coffee is hot. Gracie is sketching tiny flowers in the corner of a napkin while Maya starts plotting color palettes like her life depends on it.
