I close the laptop, promising myself I'll respond tonight.
***
"You're actually defending him now?" Luna's eyebrows rise so high they nearly disappear beneath her dark curls.
We're seated at our usual corner table in Grounds for Thought, the independent coffee shop halfway between the penthouse and Luna's apartment.
Luna stirs her lavender latte with aggressive swirls, her skepticism evident in every movement.
"The same billionaire demolition man you were ready to chain yourself to a building to stop? That Seamus O'Malley?"
"He's more complicated than I thought," I admit, cradling my chai between my hands. "There's a person beneath all that corporate armor. He's thoughtful, observant, and even kind in his own careful way."
The defense feels strange, yet completely sincere.
Luna studies me with the penetrating gaze that has seen through my defenses since college.
Her silence prompts me to continue, words spilling out about the book Seamus left by my coffee cup, the dinner we cooked together, the way he listened when I explained the significance of historical buildings.
"At the festival, he actually seemed to understand why the storefront matters so much to me."
"Understanding doesn't mean he'll change anything," Luna points out, ever the pragmatist. "His company is still planning to bulldoze the whole block, including your dream space. One art festival doesn't change that."
Her words land like a stone in still water, ripples of doubt disturbing the tentative warmth I've been nurturing.
“I know,” I say, frustration tightening my voice. “I haven’t even heard back on my counter-offer. It’s been over a month.”
Luna frowns. “What are they waiting for?”
“The owner thinks O’MalleyMart is going to raise their bid,” I explain. “They put in their initial offer and started the acquisition process. I made mine, and now he’s waiting. Hoping a bidding war drives the price up.”
“So you’re leverage.”
“Apparently.”
She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, her expression softening. "I'm just worried about you, Rosie. This was supposed to be a strategic arrangement, not... whatever is happening now."
I withdraw my hand, suddenly defensive.
"Nothing is happening. We're maintaining the arrangement as planned."
Even I don’t believe that.
Luna's expression makes it clear she's not convinced. "I see how you look when you talk about him."
"Anyway," I continue, desperate to shift the focus, "I've been writing more with my pen pal lately. Shay. Remember how I told you about him? We've been writing to each other since elementary school."
Luna nods, allowing the subject change with visible reluctance.
I continue. "He's been sending these incredibly thoughtful emails lately, almost like he knows exactly what I need to hear. It's been nice, having that connection separate from all this."
I gesture vaguely, encompassing the artificial construct of my current life.
"So you're emotionally leaning on your childhood pen pal while developing feelings for your contract husband," Luna summarizes with the blunt clarity that makes her both an invaluable friend and occasionally insufferable.
"Thatdoesn't sound complicated at all."
Her sarcasm is gentle but pointed.
