I’m halfway through my second latte when Maya suddenly sits up straighter, eyes gleaming like she’s had another revelation.
“Okay,” she says, pointing a finger at both of us. “Hear me out. We’re clearly in the zone. Creative juices flowing, good vibes all around.”
I narrow my eyes. “This feels like a setup.”
“Itis,” she says unapologetically. “I say we ride the momentum and go get arealdrink. Something bubbly. Something celebratory. Because, A, Josie finally got laid and lived to tell the tale. B, Gracie brought scones and officially passed the vibe check. And C, I might actually do the damn thing and launch this line.”
Gracie blinks. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now,” Maya says, already pulling out her phone. “Let’s go day drink like classy, confident women with good taste and better gossip.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You mean let’s go get wine drunk at noon like slightly unhinged small town girls with poor impulse control.”
“Tomato, tomato,” Maya says, already standing. “Let’s hit Aspen Brew. They do rosé flights and cheese boards. Plus, they have a patio with space heaters. It’s practically fate.”
I guess that’s it then.
Let’s go day drink.
By the time we make it to Maya’s apartment, I’m buzzing. It’s technically Maya’s boutique, but we’re above it, and she insists on calling it her “loft.”
And not just from the wine.
Everything feels likeso muchright now. The job. The kitchen. The man.
I can’t stop thinking about all of it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maya tops off our glasses, her eyes glittering like she’s two sips away from pulling the truth right out of me. She’s already a glass ahead, maybe two.
“You’ve been making that noise for ten straight minutes,” she says, flopping onto the velvet settee. “Spill it, sugarplum.”
“I don’t know what this is,” I blurt, wine loosening the words I’ve been holding back all day. “With me and Knox.”
Gracie, curled up in a fuzzy blanket on the other end of the couch, tilts her head. Her voice is soft, careful. “So there reallymightbe something?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, scrunching my nose. “I shouldn’t havefeelings, but maybe I do.”
Maya’s grin stretches like a cat in the sun. “Feelings?! Oh, babe. You caught feelings?”
I toss a pillow at her. “Don’t look so smug. I don’t know what this is. He’s older. Broody. Suspiciously good in bed. And sometimes, when he looks at me it’s like he thinks I’m some kind of miracle. But other times, it’s like he’s already halfway out the door.”
“Men,” Maya mutters, swirling her glass. “Walking red flags with great arms.”
Gracie’s voice is tentative. “How old is he?”
“Forty,” I admit, and then quickly add, “And yes, Iknow. Age gap. Boss. Chaos. But he’s different. He opens up to me. Tells me things I don’t think he’s told anyone.”
Maya raises a brow. “Like what?”
I hesitate. “Likebeingin the NFL. Got hurt. Career-ending kind of hurt. Before he started cooking.”
Gracie blinks. “Wait. NFL? As in... famous?”
“Yeah. He played for Seattle. Big deal, apparently.”
Maya leans forward, intrigued. “Yeah, Idoknow he’s a footballer, but I don’t know too much about him.”
