The Reserve always does.
As I head out and toward my next ride, a small smile tugs at my lips.
If Langston Blackwell thinks he married someone who will shrink when he pulls away…
He’s about to learn just how wrong he is.
And with that thought warming my chest, I make my way to Lakeshore Reserve—ready to step back into my own life, on my own terms.
Themoment I step into Lakeshore Reserve, I know something’s off.
My manager—Tom—looks up from behind the host stand like he’s seen a ghost. His mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again.
“Sabrina,” he says slowly, “what are you doing here?”
I blink. “Working?”
He glances past me like Langston might materialize out of thin air. “Uh… your husband called.”
I stop short. “He did what?”
Tom lowers his voice. “Said you quit. Effective immediately.”
For a second, I just stare at him.
Then I laugh. Not a nervous laugh. Not a hurt one. A real, sharp, amused laugh that pulls a couple of looks from nearby tables.
“Oh,” I say, setting my bag down behind the stand. “That’s adorable.”
Tom frowns. “Excuse me?”
I lean in a little, smile sweet and unbothered. “My husband doesn’t tell me what to do.”
And with that, I grab an apron and tie it around my waist like nothing happened.
Tom watches me for a beat, then exhales. “So… you’re staying?”
“I am,” I say simply. “Unlessyouare firing me.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. God, no. I just—okay. All right.” He rubs his face. “Table twelve needs water.”
“On it.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I head toward the floor.
I ignore it.
I pass the bar, greet a regular, pour wine with steady hands. The muscle memory kicks in like it always does—grounding, familiar, mine.
Another buzz.
Then another.
I don’t check.
Because this? This is still my life.
And if Langston Blackwell thinks one phone call is enough to rewrite it, he’s got another thing coming.
