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"And the pancakes are really that good?"

"Better." He leans back slightly. "How's your cheek?"

I touch it without thinking. Wince. "Hurts."

"We should get ice on it. Donna will have some."

"Gabriel…"

"Don't argue," he says mildly. "You need ice. I'm getting you ice."

I should protest. Should insist I'm fine. Should do all the things I've been doing for months to convince everyone, including myself, that I don't need help.

Instead, I just nod.

Donna returns with our drinks. Sets down my hot chocolate with a handful of marshmallows floating on top—the good kind, not the dehydrated ones from a packet. Sets down Gabriel's coffee black and steaming.

"Food'll be up in ten," she says. Then reaches into her apron and pulls out a clean dish towel wrapped around ice. "For your cheek, honey. Keep it on for twenty minutes, then take a break."

My throat tightens. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." She squeezes my shoulder gently. A mother's touch.

Then walks away without pressing for details. I press the ice against my cheek. The cold is sharp and immediate. Painful in a different way than the swelling.

"She seems nice," I say.

"She is. Her daughter works as a cashier too. Donna understands what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Being underestimated." Gabriel wraps both hands around his coffee mug. "Being treated like your job defines your worth."

I look down at my hot chocolate. Watch the marshmallows slowly dissolve into white foam.

"My family thinks I'm a failure," I hear myself say. "My mother's a cardiologist. My father's a corporate attorney. Both my siblings have advanced degrees. And I'm a grocery store cashier who dropped out of pre-med."

Gabriel doesn't respond immediately. Just waits, gives me space to continue or stop.

"They don't say it directly," I continue. "But it's there. Every family dinner. Every holiday. The questions about whether I'm 'still' at the supermarket. Whether I've 'thought about' going back to school. Like what I'm doing now is temporary. Like I'm just waiting to become someone worth their time."

"Are you?"

The question isn't judgmental. Just curious.

"No," I admit. "I hated pre-med. Hated every single day of it. I only enrolled because it was expected. Because that's what Sullivan children do. We become doctors or lawyers and we make our parents proud."

"And you didn't."

"I failed organic chemistry twice and dropped out at twenty. My mother cried. My father didn't speak to me for three months. My siblings still bring it up at every opportunity." I take a sip of hot chocolate. It's perfect. Rich, sweet and exactly what I needed. "Cole was supposed to fix that."

Gabriel goes very still. "What do you mean?"

"Cole comes from money. Works in finance. Has the right education, the right connections, the right everything." My voice is bitter. "My parents love him. They think he's exactly what I need, someone successful to balance out my failures. Someone stable to keep me from making more mistakes."

"So, you stayed with him to please them."

"I stayed with him because for a while it was easier than admitting I'd made another wrong choice." I press the ice harder against my cheek. Welcome the pain. "And then by the time I realized how wrong it was, I didn't know how to leave. Didn't know where I'd go. What I'd tell my whole family. How I'd explain that the perfect boyfriend they kept praising was—"