“You alive?” she asks.
“Define alive.”
She exhales. “I figured. I wanted to call before the sun comes up and the internet does what it does best.”
I push myself upright, back against the headboard. “What’s out there?”
“Nothing concrete yet,” she says. “A few blurry photos. Some chatter. Nothing published by a reputable source. But it’s coming.”
I close my eyes. She doesn’t rush me. Rachael’s good like that. She knows when silence is a negotiation.
“Did Oliver Marshall kiss you?” she asks finally.
The question lands heavy, even though I knew it was coming. “Yes,” I say.
“And did you kiss him back?”
I open my eyes, staring into the dark. “Yes.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “That’s… enough for now.”
“I’m not giving interviews,” I say immediately. “I’m not making statements beyond confirming what happened.”
“I figured.”
“And I’m not saying anything else without talking to him,” I add.
Her voice softens just a fraction. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Rachael,” I say, and my breath catches. “I don’t want this turned into a spectacle.”
“I know,” she says. “And for what it’s worth? You handled this better than most people would.”
I snort quietly. “You weren’t there.”
She hums. “I know you.”
When we hang up, the house feels too quiet again. I sit for a while, phone warm in my hand, and then finally swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The smell of coffee hits me halfway down the hall. That alone almost stops me in my tracks. Ollie’s at the counter, hair still damp like he showered recently, wearing a hoodie that is very much mine. He’s holding a mug with both hands like it’s a life raft.
He looks up when he hears me. There it is again—that careful scan of my face, like he’s bracing for impact.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
We stand there for a beat too long, until I gesture weakly at the coffee machine. “You… made coffee.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I hope that’s okay. I didn’t know if you were?—”
“It’s perfect,” I cut in.
His shoulders drop a fraction. I grab a mug and pour myself a cup. The normalcy of it feels almost obscene.
I lean back against the counter, eyes on the steam curling up between us. “Rachael called.”