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She holds my gaze for exactly one second too long.

Then she looks back down at the scale.

“You’re early,” she says.

Not warm. Not cold. Controlled.

“One minute,” I reply.

She nods once. “Clock in.”

And just like that, the wall is back.

But I can feel the crack running through it.

My hair is damp, like I showered too fast, or maybe like I ran here, which, embarrassingly, I did. Not because I’m late. Because my brain is a broken record and pacing in a penthouse at 4:10 a.m. doesn’t fix anything.

In my hand is a coffee cup from the 24-hour bodega down the street.

Not mine.

Hers.

Medium. Black. One and a half sugars.

Because she said, once, three weeks ago, when Gwen offered her some artisanal single-origin pour-over, and Tess looked like she wanted to commit a felony, “Bodega coffee is acceptable jet fuel.”

So, I remember.

I hold it out like it’s a peace offering and also like it’s a live grenade.

“Morning,” I say, voice rough. “I, uh… I remembered. From the other day. You said the bodega stuff was… ‘acceptable jet fuel.’”

For a second, her face does something. Something I can’t label fast enough. Surprise, maybe. Softness. Maybe alarm.

Then she takes the cup.

Our fingers brush.

It’s a tiny thing. Barely skin on skin. But it’s electric enough that I almost drop my own brain on the floor.

“You… you didn’t have to do that, Ashford,” she says, trying to sound unimpressed, but her voice is a little off, like she’s working harder than usual to keep the walls standing.

“I know,” I say. And it’s true, I know. “I wanted to.”

We stand there for a moment.

The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The bakery feels too small, too warm, too intimate. Like we’re in a bubble made of flour dust and last night.

I clear my throat, rubbing a hand through my damp hair. “So, uh… about last night…”

Her shoulders tense a fraction.

And then, because Tess Bennett is physically incapable of letting awkwardness fester, she takes a sip of the coffee.

It’s perfect. Of course it is. The bodega man is a wizard.

And she cuts me off.