The lunch rush comes and goes. Customers file out. Slowly, the café empties.
By three o'clock, it's just us. Me. Grath. Pebble asleep on the windowsill.
I'm wiping down tables when my phone buzzes.
One star review. Posted five minutes ago.
Filthy establishment. Found hair in my pastry. Owner was rude and dismissive. Health department should investigate. DO NOT recommend.
I read the screen.
Another buzz.
Another review. Same account. Different words, same venom.
Overpriced garbage. Stale coffee. Cats everywhere, totally unsanitary.
My vision blurs.
I place the phone down. Press my palms flat against the counter. Breathe.
Grath's there. Somehow. Hand on my shoulder, warm and steady.
"Maris."
I shake my head. Can't speak. If I speak, something's going to crack wide open.
His thumb moves. Slow. Gentle. Brushes my cheek.
Comes away wet.
I'm crying. When did that start?
He turns me around. Both hands on my shoulders now, ducking slightly so we're eye level.
"Breathe," he says. Simple. Direct.
I do. Shaky inhale. Worse exhale.
His hand moves back to my face. Cradles my jaw. Thumb tracing the path of another tear.
"They're just reviews," I manage. Voice cracked. Pathetic.
"They're lies."
"Doesn't matter. People believe them."
"Then we tell the truth louder."
I peer at his eyes. Dark. Serious. Certain in a way I've never been about anything.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My breath catches.
He leans in.
Stops an inch away.
