Mac pressed the plunger on the French press with exaggerated care. "Success. I have made coffee."
He poured two cups and handed one to Rachel. She took a sip.
It was terrible. Somehow both weak and bitter at the same time, with grounds floating at the top.
"It's perfect," Rachel lied.
Mac took a sip of his own cup and immediately made a face. "This is disgusting. I've made terrible coffee."
"It's not that bad. The thought was sweet."
"The execution was tragic." Mac dumped both cups in the sink.
They settled at her small kitchen table.
Mac bit into his croissant, then started talking with his mouth full. "So I was thinking." He paused, swallowed, tried again. "I was thinking about moving day. Saturday. The team is helping, which means chaos but also efficiency. Jamie's made a spreadsheet—"
"Jamie made a spreadsheet for the move?"
"Jamie makes spreadsheets for everything. It's his love language." Mac pulled out his phone, showing Rachel an elaboratecolor-coded document. "Look, he's organized everything by category, weight, fragility, and priority. Your books have their own section. He's allocated three team members specifically for book transport."
Rachel looked at the spreadsheet. It was insane. It was also kind of sweet. She took a bite of her turnover. It was perfect, flaky, sweet, still warm from the bakery.
For a moment, everything felt normal and safe. Like Derek didn't exist and her mother wasn't coming to judge her choices.
Her phone vibrated on the table. Another unknown number.
Rachel picked it up, read it, then deleted it without a word.
"What was it?" Mac asked.
"Derek. I’m not engaging." Rachel's voice was steady.
"What did he say?"
"Doesn't matter.” She squeezed his hand.
Mac's phone buzzed loudly on the table, interrupting her.
He glanced at it, frowned. "It's Cole."
"Answer it."
Mac picked up. "Hey, what's—" His expression shifted immediately. "What? When?" A pause. "Yeah. I'm at Rachel's. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He hung up, standing abruptly.
"What happened?" Rachel asked, anxiety spiking.
"Derek published an article. This morning. In the Boston Sports Medicine Journal." Mac ground the words out. "It's about Ellie."
Ice flooded her veins. The Boston Sports Medicine Journal; a peer-reviewed, respected, read by every PT and team physician in the country. Not some blog Derek could be dismissed for. This was official.
"Oh God," Rachel whispered. "Mac, that's career assassination with credentials. This is exactly what he does."
Mac's face was dark with rage. "Cole wants us over. Emergency meeting. Now."
Rachel looked at him, this man who'd left her a note so shewouldn't worry, who'd gone out at dawn to buy her favorite pastries, who'd turned down better opportunities without hesitation, who wanted her with him even during crisis meetings.
