"Morning," I say, quieter than usual.No smirk, no swagger.Just… me.
She turns.Eyes meet mine for a moment too long.Then she hands me a cup without a word.
"There's no sugar," she says eventually."Figured I'd let you decide what you want."
There's a message in that.About control.About space.
"Thanks," I say, accepting it."Appreciate the freedom."
She doesn't smile, but her mouth twitches like she might.Then she shifts her weight and glances toward the tables.Doesn't walk away, though.
"I thought about what you said," I offer, not looking at her directly."About the media stuff."
She finally meets my eyes again.
“And?”
"I'll give you something," I say."No scripts.No polish.Just me.You decide if it's worth writing."
Something flickers across her face.Surprise?Gratitude?Guilt?All three, maybe.
"You sure?"she asks, voice low."You don't have to prove anything."
"I'm not proving.I'm trusting."
I lean in just enough to lower my voice."One sit-down.Off-script."
She holds my gaze."On the record—after you approve the angle."
“Deal.”
Her breath catches.This time, I see it clearly.
I reach for the cup she's holding just a second too long.Brush her fingers on purpose.
She doesn't pull away.
That tingle as our fingers meet.I almost close my eyes to enjoy it.
"Thanks for thinking about my morning dose of caffeine," I say, pulling away slowly.
"It was for me," she replies."But I figured I owed you an apology.For crossing a line yesterday.It was… impulsive."
"You can be an impulsive woman sometimes."
"You have no idea."
"Actually," I lean in, just enough for her to feel my breath, "I do."
And with that, I turn and walk to my table.
I can feel the stares.I feel a little guilty, leaving her to deal with them.
But then I hear the espresso machine kick in and know.
She'll handle it.
I leave with her coffee in my hand and her consent in my pocket.
