Okay,I type back.
The word sits there. Small and final.
I stand outside Ellis Books& Brews at closing time, watching through the window as Lacy flips chairs onto tables. Her movements are precise, mechanical. The kind of busy work you do when your brain won't stop spinning.
The street is empty. No cameras. No witnesses. Just me and the locked door between us.
I knock.
She freezes mid-reach, shoulders tensing. Turns slowly. Her face is unreadable through the glass, but she crosses to the door and opens it just wide enough for conversation.
"Stone."
"Can I come in?"
She hesitates. Glances past me at the empty sidewalk, checking for phones, for proof. Then steps aside.
I enter my own execution.
The shop smells like old paper and coffee grounds. Familiar. Safe. Everything I've managed to ruin.
"Lacy, I?—"
"Don't." She holds up a hand, voice steady but strained. "Let me go first."
I nod. Wait.
"That was a disaster. You know that, right? The video's been viewed fifty thousand times. Blair's office called my landlord asking about 'safety protocols.' The grant committee wants a formal statement about my judgment in partnering with the placement program."
Each word lands like a punch.
"Three vendors pulled out of the cultural festival. Said they don't want to be associated with controversial programming." She laughs, hollow and bitter. "Controversial. That's what we are now."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She turns, eyes blazing. "Because it felt like you were marking territory. Like I was something you owned that Evan was trying to steal."
"That's not—" I stop. Force myself to be honest. "Maybe part of it was. Seeing him touch you, seeing you smile at him like everything was normal when I'm over here trying to fold myself into shapes I'll never fit... yeah. I got jealous. Stupid jealous."
"Jealous I can work with. Public meltdowns that feed every stereotype Blair's been pushing? That's harder."
She sinks into one of the chairs she hasn't put up yet. Covers her face with her hands.
"I'm tired, Stone. Tired of defending us. Tired of justifying why I'm allowed to want you without it being some kind of political statement."
I kneel in front of her. The suit pants strain across my thighs.
"Then don't defend us. Don't justify."
"Easy for you to say."
"Is it?" The question comes out rougher than I mean. "You think this is easy? Walking around knowing every move I makegets analyzed for proof I'm too dangerous, too other, too much? I bought this ridiculous suit because I thought if I looked harmless enough, maybe they'd leave you alone."
She lowers her hands, looking at me properly for the first time. Takes in the ill-fitting jacket, the too-short pants.
"You hate suits."
"I hate watching you get hurt because of me more."
