"I know you don't want to hear this, but..." She takes a breath. "This is probably for the best."
My throat tightens. The words should make me angry, but they don't. They just ring with a truth I've been avoiding.
"Your heart is split clean in two right now. I get that. But Ridge's world doesn't make room for softness or compromise." Her voice gentles. "You've always known you didn't want to be consumed by the life your father lives. Ridge helped you realize that. That was a gift.”
The sun shifts slightly, the beam of light inching across my floor like a slow-moving clock hand. I watch it touch the corner of the rug Ridge stood on when he walked away.
"You're not wrong." My voice comes out steady despite the pressure building behind my eyes. "I guess I thought, or hoped, that maybe we could rewrite the rules for us."
"Rules exist in his world for a reason, Coco. The same reason your father has his rules."
I curl my fingers around my phone, letting her words sink in instead of pushing them away. The truth doesn't need my permission to be true. Ridge made that clear enough.
The sunbeam catches a tear I didn't feel fall, turning it gold for just a moment before it disappears into the fabric of my shirt. I wipe my cheek quickly, as if Delphine could see me through the phone.
"I can't sit in this house anymore." The words tumble out suddenly. "It's starting to feel like a holding cell."
"Ironic, since you met Ridge when he was holding you in a cell."
"Del, stop."
Delphine's tone shifts immediately. "I'm sorry. You need to get out of there. I could use a latte. Want to meet at Rosie's Roost in fifteen?”
The offer lifts some invisible weight. "Yes. You're right. That's exactly what I need." I push myself up from the couch.
"Oh, I have a great idea, too. There's that temporary art installation nearby. It's the one with all the paper lanterns. Have you been by there?"
"No. I'm completely clueless about what's happening in the real world. It'll be good for me."
"Perfect. We'll grab our coffees, or chais, whatever, and wander through it." I hear the smile in her voice.
"Thanks, Del." The gratitude is for more than just coffee plans, and we both know it.
"Fifteen minutes. Get moving."
I end the call and grab my bag from the hook by the door. My keys jingle in my hand, the sound oddly cheerful against the quiet of the house. The simple decision to leave, to move, to do something besides wait by a silent phone already has me feeling just a tiny bit better.
I step outside and lock the door behind me. The November midafternoon is cool and refreshing. I take a deep breath and head down the steps.
It's a short walk to Rosie's from my house. When I arrive, I grab the handle, and the door whooshes open when the wind catches it. I have to catch it so it doesn't slam against the side of the wood siding.
Delphine waves at me from a corner table, sunlight catching in her dark braid. The café buzzes with quiet conversation and the hiss of steam wands. I slide into the wooden chair across from her, grateful she arrived early to claim this spot.
"I already put your order in," Delphine says, nodding toward the counter. "Chai latte, extra cinnamon, coming up."
“You're a lifesaver.” I tuck my bag under the chair. “Seriously.”
“I know.” She smiles, but her gaze lingers, steady in that way of hers.
When my drink arrives, I wrap my hands around the warm paper mug. The spicy-sweet aroma rises in soft curls of steam, but when I take a sip, I might as well be drinking air. Nothing lands.
“How’s your dad taking all this?” Delphine asks.
I trace my finger around the rim of my mug. “We haven’t spoken.”
“How do you feel about that?”
I stare into my chai, watching the thin layer of foam slowly disappear.
