"Love isn't smart."
"Exactly my point."
A customer approaches. I take their order on autopilot. Tess waits, patient and infuriating.
When they leave, I rest against the counter. Exhausted suddenly. Bone-deep tired.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to him. Set boundaries. Figure out if this is real or just chemistry and proximity."
"It feels real."
"It felt real with Evan too. Until it didn't."
Evan. God. I'd almost forgotten.
My phone chimes. Speak of the devil.
Still on for brunch Sunday? Need to talk to you about something.
I peer at the text. We'd scheduled this two weeks ago, back when Stone was just a clumsy orc who'd destroyed my awning. Back when brunch with my ex seemed harmless. Closure-adjacent.
Now it feels like a trap.
"Who is it?" Tess cranes her neck.
"Evan. We have brunch Sunday."
Her eyebrows lift. "You're having brunch with your ex while dating an orc who just got suspended because of you?"
"It was scheduled before Stone. And we're not dating. We're just?—"
"Sleeping together?"
Heat floods my face. "Tess."
"Am I wrong?"
No. She's not. Which makes everything worse.
I shove the phone away. "I'll cancel."
"Don't." She straightens, eyes gleaming with that strategic light I've learned to fear. "Go. Hear what he has to say. Get perspective. Stone's situation isn't changing in forty-eight hours and you need space to think."
"That's manipulative advice."
"That's smart advice."
Maybe. Or maybe I'm just desperate enough to take any excuse for distance. For breathing room. For a chance to figure out if what I felt last night was real or just my pattern of falling too hard, too fast, for the wrong complicated men.
"Fine. I'll go."
Tess kisses my cheek. "Good. Call me after. I'll have wine ready."
She leaves. I return to work. The afternoon blurs into espresso shots and small talk and carefully not thinking about Stone's face when he told me about the suspension.
The hurt. The resignation.
