The flush hit immediately.
She leaned in, eyes wide. “Oh, shit. How was he?”
“Fucking amazing,” I admitted, cheeks blazing.
She sat back like she’d just won the lottery. “I knew he would be.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You were practically the conductor of the hate train a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, well,” she said breezily, “that was before he saved us from being mugged.”
“I wouldn’t call offering us a drive home a savior moment.” Matching Damien’s exact tone.
She snapped her menu shut. “Okay. Are you two just doing the horizontal tango, or is this… a whole thing?”
My heart stuttered.
Candace’s eyes widened. “Oh, my god. It’s a thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s… something.”
Her grin sharpened. “Spit. It. Out.”
“On Friday we admitted we have feelings for each other.”
Her brows shot up.
“He said he’d been mine since the beginning. But…” The words stuck. “I don’t know if I’ve healed enough yet.” Something tender flinched inside me. “But I’m starting to see it,” I whispered. “Something with him.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “I’m so confused.”
Something in Candace eased. “That’s understandable. I’d still be hurting, too. But don’t let that pain blind you to the good.” She nudged my foot. “It’s not like you’re getting married tomorrow. And it’s not like you’re collecting men out here. Why not make it official?”
Our sandwiches arrived—simple plates for a complicated conversation—but the moment they hit the table, something inside me clicked.
“I think you’re right.” The conviction surprised even me. “What’s the harm? If it goes south, I can always break up with him… right?”
“Right,” she said, already mid-bite into her pastrami.
“Okay.” I exhaled. “I guess I’m doing this thing, then.”
She beamed. “I guess you are.”
We shifted to lighter topics—her parents’ cruise, snippets from my weekend with Damien. No tension. No arguing. Just ease.
Just us.
A reminder of something I didn’t realize I’d missed.
***
The rest of the day slipped by silently, quickly, but still the nagging uncertainty of my decision pressed heavy on the edges of my mind.
The doors opened, and I stepped out, shrugging off the light hooded jacket I was still using for low-profile commutes.
Ava’s voice met me immediately.
“Good afternoon, Emma,” she called from the kitchen. “How was work?”
