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I stared at the text. Was I okay? I’d just had the best sex of my life with a male I loved who’d hurt me. I had a job offer that would change everything. And I only had forty-eight hours to decide.

I finally replied. I will be.

We both will be.

I set the phone down and lay down on the couch. Marzipan climbed onto my chest, settled, and started purring.

Monday felt both impossibly far away and much too close.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ELLIE

On Monday morning, I sat in my car, staring at Brashe’s truck three rows over.

He was early.

My phone sat in my lap, the screen dark, three unread messages from him burning through the glass like they could set my hands on fire if I looked.

Saturday night had been a lot. Sex on the treatment table. The same treatment table where I’d spent two weeks being professional, clinical, and detached. Where I’d touched his body in the least sexy way possible before learning it in a way that made my face heat just thinking about it.

“I love you,” he’d said.

“I love you too,” I’d told him back.

And now it was Monday morning, and Denver was waiting for their answer.

Marzipan had watched me get dressed this morning with her usual judgment, perched on the bureau while I’d changed outfits three times. A blue blazer had won. I’d buttoned it up like I was going into battle.

Maybe I was.

I opened the texts.

Made it home. Hip feels good. Everything else feels… I don’t know. Better? Terrifying? Both?

An hour later, he’d sent another. Sorry. That was weird. I’m being weird.

The third had been sent half an hour ago. I brought you coffee this morning. Your usual. Plus two donuts. One for me and one for you. We can have them together. I’ll be in the treatment room.

Coffee and donuts? That was what people did when they were trying. When they wanted to show they cared and that they’d been paying attention to the small things.

But trying wasn’t the same as changing.

I got out of the car and went inside.

Brashe sat on the treatment table—our table—two coffee cups and a paper bag on the desk behind him. He stood when I walked in. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His team hoodie looked slept in. His hair stuck up on one side like he’d been running his hand through it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

We stood there, neither of us knowing how to start.

Two nights ago, we’d had sex and said I love you. This morning we were coworkers again. Except we weren’t. We never had been.

He tilted his head. “About the coffee⁠—”

“About Denver—” I said at the same time.