“Hey,” he said easily, like he hadn’t just blown up my life. “Brought you the strong stuff.”
I blinked.
Lara turned slowly. “You’vegotto be kidding me.”When they saw who it was, their face didsomething. A twitch, a blink. Like a tiny part of them short-circuited. “Oh mygod,” they said under their breath. “You weren’t lying.”
“Hi,” Ansel said, completely oblivious to the high-stakes emotional theater happening around him. “I didn’t know if you’d already had coffee, so I brought you the backup kind. The turbo blend. Figured you probably slept about the same as I have considering?—”
He held it out like a peace offering. Or amate gift.
I died inside.
Lara wasstaring. Mouth fully hanging open. I couldseethe fangirl in there. The one who cried with me during the episode four arc. The one who made Ansel mood boards. The one who once spent four hours explaining how his character arc was a study in repressed longing.
And then they blinked.
The fan disappeared. Thefriendtook over.
“You know what?” Lara said, voice deadly calm. “I’m gonna go.”
“You don’t have to—” I tried.
“No, Ido.” They backed away with both coffees clutched in their hands like emotional support beverages. “Because if I stay here, I’m going to say something mean. AndIam a good person.”
“Lara—”
“We had a pact, Juniper!” they whisper-yelled. “I thought this—” they motioned between the two of us. “—was a onetime thing.”
“I didn’t plan this!”
“You didn’tnotplan either!”
Ansel looked between us like he’d walked into a movie halfway through. “Should I come back later?”
Lara let out the most betrayed sigh I’d ever heard. “And he’spolite. Youbitch.” Then they spun on their heels and stormed out, the bell above the door jingling aggressively behind them.
I pouted — a little childishly. “Lara took my coffee.”
“I brought you—” He set it in front of me. “Sorry.”
I took it. “Not strong enough.”
“You haven’t even tasted it.”
I sipped. “Not strong enough.”
He crossed his arms, looking unfairly soft in a hoodie that had definitely seen a dryer or two. “You know, Iwasgoing to ask how you were doing.”
“Oh, I’m great,” I said brightly. “Very normal morning. Just got yelled at by my best friend for allegedly making out with a hot actor in a pool. Can youimagine?”
“I can imaginea lotof things,” he said, eyes locked on mine for a beat too long. “Not only can I imagine, I canremember.”
He gave me a look. A real one — head tilted, mouth curved, eyes low-lidded like he was trying to see through all my walls at once. “You okay though? For real?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “But I’ve got caffeine and sarcasm, so it’s likely I’ll survive.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning a hip against the counter. “Lara seemed... intense.”
“Lara is passionate,” I replied, “about books, justice, and me not making life-ruining choices.”
