I stumble back a step and close the door, the lock clicking into place like the punctuation mark on a sentence I’m not ready to read.
I look at the coffee like it might explode. It’s still hot, fresh. Exactly how I like it—oat milk, extra foam, hint of cinnamon. It’s stupid. It’s just coffee. But it feels like he reached straight into my chest and squeezed my heart. Because this is how Matt loves me—in silent gestures that say more than words ever could. In tiny details no one else would bother remembering.
And I hate how quickly hope flares to life inside me, like I’m eighteen again and stupid enough to believe in rescue.
My skin prickles with heat.
I know I should pour it down the sink. Shut it out. Sever the tie.
But the truth is, I can’t. Part of me wants to drink it just to feel closer to him, even if it costs me every shred of sanity I’ve got left.
Still barefoot, I pad back to the kitchen and set the cup on the counter like it’s radioactive. Steam curls into the air, fragrant and familiar, somehow more intimate than any late-night text or emoji-littered tip ever could be.
I don’t drink it, not yet.
Instead, I jab the home button on my phone and hit FaceTime for the only two people who can talk me off this ledge.
Cora answers first, hair swept up into a chic, messy bun, gold hoops catching the light. A moment later, Abbie joins the call with Teddy curled on her lap.
“Finally,” Abbie huffs. “I thought you’d died under a pile of fabric and unsold sketches.”
“More like buried under class schedules and mysterious coffee deliveries,” I mutter, curling onto the couch, my robe still cinched tight.
Cora’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, mysterious how?”
I wave a hand. “Long story. One that ends with me questioning whether the universe is gaslighting me or if someone’s just trying to get inside my head.”
Because that’s the problem. Matt always knew how to get inside my head. How to slip past every defence I’ve ever built. And the worst part is… sometimes I want him to.
“Anyway,” I drawl, forcing a breezy tone none of us believe, “tell me something good before I spiral into a true-crime deep dive about who knows my exact espresso preferences.”
“Not so fast.” Abbie cuts in, green eyes narrowing like she’s reading my pulse through the screen. “Are you safe?”
“It’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic.” I wave her off, trying for casual.
“Are you sure?” Cora presses, her voice gentle but edged with steel. “Say the word, and I’ll have Liam and Aidan headed your way in a heartbeat.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, cheeks hot. “I’m sure. It’s… fine. Just coffee. Not a crisis.”
Cora doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go… for now.
“How do you feel about that girls’ weekend in Lyon next week?” she says instead, shifting her phone slightly, and for the first time, I realise the lighting behind her is unfamiliar—neutral cream walls, sheer curtains, a glint of a hotel lamp. “Ugh, sorry, ignore the background. I’m… traveling for some Points stuff.”
“Where are you?” I ask, squinting at the screen.
“Nowhere exciting,” Cora says quickly, dismissing it with a flick of her fingers. “And I have to get ready soon, so what do you think?”
I narrow my eyes. “Cora Jameson, what are you hiding from me?”
“Me?” Her laugh is bright but just a hair too sharp. “Nothing. I’m an open book.”
Her eyes flick away from the screen for just a second. I notice, but I don’t push. I’m too tired for that, too worn out from holding everything together. I trust her enough not to dig, and for once, that feels like a relief. We all carry little secrets, I just don’t have the energy to hide mine today.
Abbie cuts in, relentless as ever. “Enough mystery. We’ve a girls' weekend to plan and not long to do so.”
I blink. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Abbie chimes in. “We already told Owen and Logan. We have to bring guards with us, but that’s nothing new.”
