“What was that?” I choke.
“That’s you being seductive.”
I completely lose it.
“Start practicing. Commit to the shoulder. Now here’s where it gets good.” She shakes herself, and her intensity is dialed up so high that the elderly man near the window lowers his newspaper to watch. “Claire, I think about you every time I knead dough. I named my sourdough starter after you.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, smiling too much.
“And then you say…” She goes breathy again, fans herself with both hands, and pretends to faint sideways off the chair with enough drama to qualify for community theater funding. “Oh, Brody, take me now on this pile of flour?—”
“Nina!” I’m laughing so hard my ribs ache, my hand clamped over my mouth, tears blurring my vision. The couple at the next table has stopped eating. Miranda is frozen behind the counter, holding a portafilter.
Nina is doubled over, one hand gripping the table. “I’m telling you, this is exactly how it’ll go. He’ll have his shirt off before you finish the sentence, and you’ll be engaged to a loaf of bread by sunset.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m a visionary.”
The door chimes. Three customers walk in, scanning the menu board, and Nina stands, smoothing her apron with the composure of a woman who was not just performing a one-woman seduction play in the middle of a café.
“I have to go rescue Miranda before she puts oat milk in a flat white again.” She turns back, pointing at me. “Do it, Claire. Ask him. And I need to know everything. Every detail.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t. Thinking is how you talk yourself out of everything good.” She’s already moving toward the counter. “Just do it before some other Omega beats you to it and ends up with free pastries.” She vanishes behind the machine with a wink, and I sit with the last of my latte, staring at the foam, turning the idea over. It makes sense but is also terrifying, nauseating, and stomach-flipping, and that’s exactly why every cell in my body is screaming to do it and not do it in equal measure.
I finish my coffee, wave to Nina, and step outside.
The walk home usually takes forty minutes along the coast road, and I need every minute of it. The cliffs drop away to my left, the ocean glinting in the sun, and by the time I’m halfway home, the fresh air has loosened the knot in my chest enough to think straight.
My phone rings. It’s Katie. “Hey! Quick check-in. I’ve got a Zoom in fifteen.” Her voice is bright, rapid, and already halfway through three other tasks. “Everything good? Book going okay? Wedding sorted?”
“Book’s moving. Wedding’s Saturday. Not looking forward to it at all. Tomorrow I’m getting my hair done, day after, I’m picking up the dress, and then I plan to attend, smile twice, eat cake, and escape before anyone tries to talk about my future.”
“You need a date.”
“Not you too.”
“Who else said it?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Which means it was someone important.”
“Regardless, I think I’ll attend alone.”
“Claire, it would be so much easier if you?—”
A jackhammer erupts from the roadwork beside me, loud enough to rattle my bones. Across the street, three men in hi-vis vests are tearing into the pavement, and Katie’s voice dissolves into cheerful, dangerous fragments.
“—really think you should let me?—”
“What? I can’t hear you. There’s roadwork.”
“—just take care of the whole?—”
“Katie, it’s so loud.” I press a finger to my other ear and raise my voice like that helps. “But honestly, I don’t need anything for the wedding. I’m fine.”