That’s the challenging part.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
I glance at the screen.
Tessa — ERS.
Of course it is.
I step farther into the kitchen, lowering my voice out of habit even though Lila is across the room with her back to me, filling the kettle like she’s concentrating on not being perceived.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Hi, Cam!” Tessa sounds relentlessly upbeat, like this is a Tuesday and not a situation that could crack open a man’s spine if he’s not careful. “Just a routine check-in. We’re touching base with both of you today. Early-stage alignment, comfort levels, that sort of thing.”
I lean my hip against the counter and stare at the floor. “Okay.”
She doesn’t take the hint.
“So,” she continues, “how’s the dynamic feeling so far? Any friction? Any surprises?”
I think about the hallway. The song. The way her voice sounded like it had been carrying weight for years without complaint. I think about the rehearsal floor and how fast her body gave up on pretending it was fine.
I think about how instinctively my body moved to hers. No planning. No contract language. Just reflex.
“She’s…” I stop.
Careful.
“She’s different than I expected,” I say finally.
“And how does that land for you?” Tessa asks.
I don’t answer right away.
Silence is safer than whatever the truth would sound like.
I swallow. “It’s fine.”
Tessa laughs lightly. “Cam. ‘Fine’ isn’t an emotion. It’s a dodge.”
I almost smile despite myself.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice low. “She’s been through a lot. Today was… intense. I’m just making sure she has space.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Short. Calculating.
“That’s good,” Tessa says carefully. “Protective instincts are a strong indicator of match stability.”
I stiffen. “I’m not”
“I know,” she cuts in gently. “I’m not assigning motives. Just observing behavior.”
That somehow feels worse.
“She trusts you,” Tessa adds. “That’s not something Lila gives easily.”
I don’t answer.
