Jess.
I answer immediately, pressing the phone to my ear. "Jess! I'm so happy to talk to you. It feels like ages."
"That's because it has been ages," she says, and I can hear the affectionate exasperation in her voice. "You're always too busy. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."
"Never," I say. The word comes out fierce. Honest. "I'm sorry. Things have been crazy."
"Tell me everything."
I lean against the counter, my hip pressing into the edge. "I'm working somewhere new. Living somewhere new too, actually. It's temporary but it's nice. Really nice."
"Living where?" Jess's curiosity is immediate. "With who?"
"With my employer. It's part of the job. They needed someone on-site." I keep my voice carefully neutral. Vague on purpose.
"But it's good. Stable. Better than what I had before. Better pay. Better conditions. A place to live while I figure things out."
I don't mention names. Don't mention the fake engagement that's starting to feel less fake every day. Don't mention anything that could identify them or put them at risk. The instinct to protect them surprises me with its intensity, but I don't question it.
"I'm happy for you," Jess says, and her voice is warm and genuine in a way that makes my chest tighten. "You deserve it. God knows you've had enough chaos."
The words settle over me like a blanket. Comfort and validation wrapped together.
"Actually," Jess continues, her tone shifting slightly, "speaking of your old job. Did you hear what happened to your former boss, the mighty Chef Marcus Hale?"
My stomach drops. The pleasant warmth from her earlier words evaporates. "No. What happened?"
"He was assaulted. Some weird attack. They cut off both his thumbs."
I gasp, the sound sharp and involuntary. Horror floods through me, cold and immediate. "Oh my god. That's awful."
"Is it though?" Jess's voice is dry. Matter-of-fact. "He had it coming after what he did to you. Made sure you couldn't get another job. Blackballed you everywhere that mattered. And now he can't hold a knife either. Poetic justice."
"Jess," I say, scandalized despite myself.
"I'm just saying. Karma's a bitch." She pauses. "And he'll have a hard time jerking off now without thumbs."
The dark humor shocks a laugh out of me before I can stop it. I shouldn't laugh. It's terrible. Horrible. A man was mutilated. But the image is so absurd, and Jess's delivery is so deadpan, that I can't help it.
"You're horrible," I tell her, but there's no real heat in it.
"I'm honest," she corrects. "There's a difference. Anyway. I'm glad you're happy. You sound happy."
"I am," I say, and I realize as the words leave my mouth that they're true.
For all my stress and nerves and confusion, for all the anxiety spiraling through my chest and the questions I can't answer, I'mhappy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way I haven't been in years. Maybe ever.
We say goodbye. I hang up and set my phone down on the counter, the screen still warm against my palm.
I'm thinking about happiness, about what Jess said, about the strange lightness in my chest despite everything, when I hear the door open.
The sound pulls my attention immediately. My pulse kicks up, nervous energy flooding back.
They walk in together. All three of them.
The sight hits me like a physical force.
Luan moves with more confidence than he did even yesterday, his steps sure and purposeful. His sunglasses are off, tucked into his jacket pocket, and his eyes are clear and focused in a way they haven't been since the explosion. Green cutting through the afternoon light. He's tall and controlled and magnetic in a way that makes my breath catch, that makes me remember last night with visceral clarity. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. The way he made me feel like the only thing in the world that mattered.
