Izzy wrapped her hands around her coffee when it came, staring down into it for a second too long.
Caitlin noticed.
“Hey,” she said softly. “What is it?”
Izzy shook her head at first, like she might push it away—but then it slipped anyway.
“It’s just…” She let out a breath. “I don’t know who I am right now.”
Caitlin frowned.
“Iz—”
“My job’s gone,” Izzy said, quieter now. “Everything I built in Denver. That was… me. That was my life.”
She glanced around the café—the easy smiles, the familiarity, the way people actually saw each other.
“And here,” she said, voice catching slightly, “places like this don’t exist the same way. Not like this. Not with people who actually know you. Care if you walk through the door.”
Her eyes shimmered before she could stop it.
“My barista knew my order,” she said with a soft, almost self-conscious laugh. “But that’s not the same as this.”
Caitlin reached across the table and took her hand.
“Oh, Iz,” she said gently. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Izzy shook her head. “No, it’s… everything feels untethered.”
Caitlin leaned forward, her expression shifting—something hopeful breaking through.
“Or,” she said, “you’re free.”
Izzy looked at her.
“I mean it,” Caitlin continued. “You’re not tied to anything now. You could come here. For real. Stay.”
Izzy blinked.
“Cait—”
“You could work in Asheville,” Caitlin went on, warming to it. “Or better—open your own gallery here. Be your own boss. Do it your way.”
She squeezed her hand.
“We could be together again.”
The words landed deeper than Izzy expected.
“Would you at least think about it?” Caitlin asked softly.
Izzy opened her mouth?—
A sharp flash of light cut across the table.
Caitlin flinched, instinctively turning toward the window.
Across the street, a black SUV idled at the curb.
