Wendy’s eyes soften behind her cherry-red frames as she reaches across the gleaming tabletop, her warm palm covering my fidgeting fingers. “I’m sorry everything feels so terrible. I’d feel exactly the same way if I were stuck in your situation.”
Her glasses slip down her nose, and she nudges them back into place with one finger. “What we need is comfort food—serious, soul-healing carbs. And it’s absolutely on me!”
The menus sit between us, its pages filled with tempting descriptions of pastries that could momentarily erase workplace drama.
My stomach betrays me with a low rumble. Despite the stress throttling my appetite lately, implementing those graphics had sparked a tiny flame of hope—maybe I could uncover Tim’s scheme against Jake before it’s too late. Wendy’s company only fans that flame brighter, her genuine concern like a life preserver in this sea of corporate sharks.
Sitting in this nest of warmth, I let myself absorb the café‘s ambiance. Rich, inviting aromas dance through the air—dark-roasted coffee beans mingling with the sweet kiss of caramel and toasted nuts.
When I close my eyes and inhale deeply, something inside me temporarily unknots.
“Earth to Sarah,” Wendy says with a gentle smile. “Ready to order?”
My head bobs in agreement while my stomach finally growls. “White chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream and one of those blueberry muffins,” I declare, my mouth already watering in anticipation.
Wendy slides from her chair and heads to the counter, her cardigan swinging cheerfully against her back.
My thoughts circle back to Jake like stubborn satellites unable to break orbit. His absence has carved a strange hollow in my days—a silence growing more noticeable, not less, with each passing hour. The certainty that Tim and Amanda are plotting something sinister gnaws at me, but proving it remains frustratingly out of reach.
Bearing gifts of caffeine and carbs, Wendy returns triumphantly. Steam rises full of flavor from our oversized mugs.
“Thank you,” I say.
Wendy initiates our toast. “To better days at work and villains getting their comeuppance. Always.”
I cock my head. “Isn’t that from The Mummy?”
Wendy smiles. “You know your movies.”
“I know my Brandon Fraser.”
Both of us giggle, and after we clink our ceramic mugs together, she takes a contemplative bite of her muffin before fixing those perceptive eyes on me. “Let it out. I know you’re itching to say something.”
“I still can’t believe I ended up on Tim’s team,” I say while absently stirring my mocha, creating a mini whirlpool. “They’ve made ignoring me an Olympic sport, except when they need someone to boss around. But Tim assigned me real work the other day—implementing campaign images. It could be my way in to figuring out what he’s plotting with Amanda.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past those two,” Wendy agrees, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “Did you uncover anything suspicious?”
The disappointment must show on my crumpled face. “Not yet—but getting work assigned is a start. And then there’s Jake,” I confess quietly. “Radio silence for days. It’s like he evaporated.”
“He’s been walking around looking like someone stole his puppy,” Wendy says. “Maybe he misses you, too.”
That small possibility warms me more than the coffee ever could.
When our cups stand empty, Wendy slides her cardigan over her shoulders. “You’re stronger than this temporary nightmare, Sarah. You’ve got this—things will get better.”
My nod comes with a small smile. “Thanks for listening. I needed this more than I realized.”
Together we push through the glass doors, greeting the wall of humid heat that defines Arkansas summers. We pause on the sidewalk, and Wendy pulls me into a fierce hug. “No matter how messy this job gets, remember you’re not fighting alone.”
I squeeze back, gratitude tightening my throat. “You’re a lifeline in this chaos.”
As Wendy walks toward her sensible hatchback, I make my way to my apartment, mentally preparing for another lonely evening of overthinking. Once inside the building I dig in my purse for the keys.
“Sarah?”
I look up to see Jake standing by the mailboxes, holding a pile of letters.
My heart sings at the sight of him—a wild, erratic rhythm I haven’t experienced since our first summer together as a couple.
