"Oh," she breathes. "Oh."
"Good 'oh' or bad 'oh'?" I ask, settling onto the stool beside her and trying not to look too desperate for validation. I fail, obviously. My leg is bouncing with nervous energy beneath the counter.
Ruby takes a sip.
I hold my breath.
Her smile of appreciation widens—spreading across her face like sunrise over Copacabana—while her eyes seem to glint with genuine joy. The kind of reaction that money can't buy and critics can't fake.
"Nowthis," she declares, "tastes like Rio in a steamy cup." She takes another sip, eyes fluttering closed as she deconstructs the flavors. "The Brazilian Santos as your base—smart choice. The chocolate and hazelnut notes are coming through beautifully. There's orange in here?" I nod. "And cinnamon. And..." Her eyes open, golden and impressed. "Brown sugar? Not white?"
"Brown sugar caramelizes differently," I explain, warming under her praise. "Gives it that slightly molasses undertone that makes you think of?—"
"Beach bonfires," she finishes. "Late night on the sand. Someone playing guitar in the distance." She giggles—an incongruously adorable sound from someone who looks like she could headline a biker gang—and points at me with the hand not holding the cup. "All you're missing is alcohol."
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its lightness. "Well, theydolove their spiked drinks. Maybe I'll do a boozy version for the Valentine's menu. 'Rio After Dark' or something equally pretentious."
Ruby nods approvingly, then nudges the gift bag toward me with her elbow since her hands are occupied with cradling the coffee like a precious treasure.
"Open it."
I blink at the bag—glossy red with gold tissue paper poking out the top. "Wait. This is forme?"
"Well, I wouldn't come all the way here tonotgive you something, silly." Ruby's tone is affectionate, chiding. "What kind of friend do you think I am?"
The best kind, apparently.
I push aside the tissue paper and reach inside, fingers closing around smooth ceramic. What I pull out makes me gasp so loud that Ruby actually snorts into her coffee.
It's a mug—but not just any mug. It's hand-painted in brilliant blues and greens, the Christ the Redeemer statue silhouetted against a sunset, with "Rio de Janeiro" curving along the bottom in elegant gold script. Beneath it is a whole set: coasters featuring different Brazilian landmarks, a small ceramic espresso cup with the Brazilian flag, and a tin of what looks like authentic Brazilian coffee beans.
"Wait," I breathe, looking up at Ruby with wide eyes. "Wait,wait?—"
Ruby's grin is cat-that-got-the-cream levels of smug. "Yeah. I went. Thankfully."
"You went toRio?!" I'm practically shouting now, and I don't even care that my voice echoes off the bakery's exposed brick walls. "You went to Rio for New Year's?!"
"Last minute decision." She shrugs like it's nothing, like spontaneously flying to Brazil for the world's biggest New Year's celebration is just a casual Tuesday. "Found a flight deal on December 30th, figured 'why not,' and ended up on Copacabana Beach at midnight wearing all white and screamingFeliz Ano Novowith about three million of my closest friends."
I am simultaneously incredibly jealous and incredibly in love with how much Ruby embodies the "fuck it, let's go" lifestyle I aspire to.
"By yourself?" I ask, still processing. "You went to Rio byyourself?"
"Yup." Another casual shrug, another sip of her Rio-in-a-cup. "Wasn't going to wait for a pack at this rate. Dry spell season ishighright now, babe." She winks, the gesture somehow both playful and deeply relatable. "All the good ones are either taken, toxic, or living in a different time zone. So I said screw it—I had to experience Rio single because I'mmanifestingmy pack in time for Hot Knotty Summer."
I choke on nothing. "HotwhatSummer?"
"Hot Knotty Summer." She says it with complete seriousness, like it's a legitimate cultural event I should have marked on my calendar. "Trademarked. By me. In my head. But still trademarked."
"Girl." I'm laughing now, real laughter that bubbles up from somewhere warm and light. "You and your Knotty Summers."
"It's going to beknotty," she declares with the conviction of a prophet delivering divine revelation, "a.k.a. naughty asfuck, because I am going to be turned every way but to jail."
"What if your Alpha is a police officer?" I counter, raising an eyebrow.
Ruby pauses. Actuallypauses, coffee cup frozen halfway to her lips, golden eyes going slightly distant as she considers this possibility with far more seriousness than the question warrants.
"I have a few tricks when it comes to handcuffs," she says finally, nodding to herself like she's solved a complex equation. "Plus, being fucked in a jail cell is on my bucket list."
