MARIS
The café feels smaller every time I look at the empty petition clipboard.
Two days since Janelle's sabotage. Two days of staring at that blank sheet and trying to convince myself there's still a path forward.
Grath hovers near the espresso machine. He's been doing that lately. Hovering. Like he thinks if he stays close enough, he can fix this with sheer proximity.
"You need to eat something," he says quietly, his deep voice carrying that careful gentleness he uses when he thinks I'm about to snap.
"I'm not hungry." The lie tastes stale even as I say it. My stomach's been tied in knots since dawn.
"You didn't eat breakfast." It's not a question. He would've noticed. He always notices, keeps track of these small things with the same attention he gives to whether Shrimp's eaten or if the corner table's wobbly.
"I had coffee." I gesture toward the half-empty mug cooling beside the register, as if caffeine and denial constitute a meal plan.
"Coffee isn't food, Maris."
I slam my mug down harder than I mean to. The sound cracks through the empty café. Grath flinches.
"I know coffee isn't food, Grath. I own a café. I understand basic nutrition."
His jaw tightens. That stubborn set to his shoulders that means he's about to push back.
"Just trying to help."
"Well, maybe I don't need your help right now."
The words land wrong. I hear it as soon as they're out. But I can't seem to stop. All the fear and frustration of the past two days is bubbling up, and Grath is here, solid and immovable, and I need something to push against.
"Maybe what I need is space to think without someone breathing down my neck every five minutes asking if I'm okay."
"I'm worried about you."
"I don't need you to worry about me. I need you to—" I stop. Breathe. Try to rein it back in. "I need you to let me handle this."
"You're not handling it. You're shutting down."
"Excuse me?"
He crosses his arms. The gesture is defensive but his eyes are concerned. That soft, earnest concern that makes my chest ache.
"You haven't talked to anyone. Haven't opened the café. Haven't done anything except sit here staring at that clipboard like it's going to magically refill itself."
"What do you want me to do, Grath? Smile and pretend everything's fine? Serve lattes while the developer buys out the entire street?"
"I want you to fight. Like you always do."
"Maybe I'm tired of fighting!"
The silence that follows is sharp. Cutting.
Grath doesn't move. His face is carefully blank. That wall he puts up when he thinks he's about to get hurt.
I should apologize. Should take it back. But the words keep coming.
"Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe we made it worse by being so public. By turning you into some viral hero and using that for publicity."
"You think I care about being viral?"
