"No. But I care. I cared about the attention. About the customers. About using your whole situation to save the café."
His expression shifts. Something wounded flickers across his face.
"My situation." He repeats it slowly, deliberately, like he's tasting each syllable and finding them all bitter. Testing the weight of the phrase between us.
"That's not what I meant." The words come out defensive, thin. Even I don't believe them.
"Sounds exactly like what you meant." His voice drops lower, flatter. The kind of careful monotone he uses when he's trying not to break something.
"Grath—" I start, reaching for him, for some way to take it back, but my hand falls uselessly to my side.
"You think I don't know how this looks? Big scary orc and his sad kitten? You think I'm stupid enough not to see how people stare?"
"I never said you were stupid."
"But you did use it. Us. To get attention."
The accusation stings because it's partially true. I did leverage the viral moment. Did encourage Grath to be visible, to be charming, to play up the gentle giant routine for customers.
I thought I was being smart. Strategic. A good businesswoman making the most of an unexpected opportunity.
Now it just feels dirty. Calculating. Like I've taken something precious, something real, and cheapened it into a commodity.
"I'm trying to save my business," I say quietly, hearing how thin the justification sounds even as the words leave my mouth. How inadequate it is as a defense. As an explanation for what I've done.
"By using me." It's not a question. The flatness in his voice makes it worse somehow, no anger, no heat, just a statement of fact that settles between us like ash.
"That's not fair." The protest is automatic, reflexive, but even I can hear the weakness in it.
"Isn't it?" He steps closer. His voice is low. Rough. "You put me in that apron. You had me pose with the kitten. You posted about it on every social media account you have."
"You agreed to all of that!"
"Because I thought we were partners. Thought we were in this together."
"We are!"
"Are we? Or am I just convenient? A marketing tool that happens to be good in bed?"
The words hit like a slap. I actually step back.
"That's not—how dare you?—"
"How dare I what? Point out the truth?"
"You think this is just about marketing for me? You think I'm that shallow?"
"I don't know what to think anymore, Maris. You won't talk to me. You won't let me help. You just keep pushing and pushing like you're trying to prove you don't need anyone."
"Maybe I don't!"
It comes out as a shout. My hands are shaking. There's something hot and awful building in my body and I can't make it stop.
Grath goes very still. His eyes search my face.
When he speaks again, his voice is careful. Controlled.
"If that's true, then what are we doing?"
