I'm dreaming of fire, smoke in my throat, heat crawling up my legs like a living thing. Increasing. I wake up, gasping for air and cold sweating. I notice the duvet bunched around my legs like a python, and smell something burnt—Daniel is making breakfast. I look at the time—nine am.

  "Hey," I mumble, voice gummy with sleep, "you're up early for a Saturday." I shout from bed.

  This is the middle of the night for him. I try to breathe in, but there's something heavy on my chest—a cat, obviously. Greta. She's staring at me with gold-green suspicion, probably pissed I didn't fill her bowl before passing out last night.

  Daniel shouts from the kitchen, "Yeah, but I wanted to surprise you with breakfast."

  I untangle myself and sit up, stretching until my spine pops. I try not to resent how easy he makes mornings look, how he can roll from sleep into wakefulness like it's the same thing.

  My brain is already rehearsing the things I'm supposed to be mad about. Like the girl at the bar or maybe the way he pretended there was nothing weird about the interaction, the way they looked so close and I'd never heard of her. Or maybe the way I hated her and him and myself in that moment, like I was an insecure sophomore all over again.

  The cats scatter, sensing my movement as a threat to their morning routine. And as I walk to the kitchen, a thought crosses my mind: Is this a guilt breakfast? He hasn't prepared breakfast for me since my birthday, and there are still two weeks left until that.

  I also realize the apartment is unnaturally clean—even the litter box is pristine. Had he slept at all? I sit at the kitchen table behind him. He's in his gray comfy pants, shirtless, serving breakfast, and I start checking my notifications. My mom sends me one of her classic omens.

  Mom:(Hi! Good morning!)

  Mom:(Aries. March 8th. 2025. Don't take anything too seriously today. People may be careless with their words and end up hurting feelings or even breaking hearts. Don't read too deeply into what's said. Your overanalyzing of the situation could lead you to suspect scenarios that have no basis in reality.)

  How timely. I thumbs-up the message. Me wondering if my boyfriend is being nice out of guilt, and the universe is like, 'don't read so much into it'. My mom has a gift for getting under my skin.

  Daniel hands me a mug of tea. "Careful, it's hot." He smiles—we finally make eye contact.

  "Thanks," I say, grabbing the cup carefully.

  "Love you," he says in his cute voice, going back to the kitchen, like it's something he says to keep me docile, or maybe just to fill the air. "Do you want one or two pancakes?"

  Oh, I do love his pancakes "Three?"

  He laughs. "Anything for my babe."

  What bugs me is that all these things he's doing just highlight how long it's been since he's done anything sweet for me. But the stars say I'm reading too much into it. I look at the back of his head with such intensity that he eventually turns.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I sip my tea. "What's up?"

  For a second he looks genuinely confused. "With what?"

  I make the 'don't bullshit me' face and vaguely point around.

  "I just wanted to make breakfast and help around. I haven't been so attentive lately."

  It's true, he hasn't. "Awe, cute, thanks." Now ready for the casual interrogation. "At what time did you close the bar yesterday? You barely slept."

  "I stayed until 4am, but I'm okay. It was a chill night."

  My head starts spinning. Is he doing all this because he thinks I'm pissed about the girl? Am I pissed about the girl? Should I bring it up?

  “So, you slept just four hours.”

  “Babe, I'm okay.”

  Does he feel guilty because he actually did something with her? Well, maybe I am spiraling a bit, but then—Why didn't he tell me about ‘the new girl working in the bar'?

  Meanwhile, he's going on a rant about two frat guys who bothered him last night, and leaves my pancake plate on the table. I'm listening, eating, and disassociating all at the same time. This is dumb, she's probably just—

  "Do you wanna talk about something?" he looks at me with suspicion.

  "Like what?"

  Now he's making me the 'don't bullshit me face'

  "Yeah, well…." I let it hang there.

  He stiffens, but only emotionally. "Is something wrong?"

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I want to tell him that this is the problem: the way he handles everything like a minor inconvenience, a customer complaint to be placated with free drinks and a smile. I check my phone to avoid his stare, and a new message from Robert just comes in.

  Robert:

  I look at Daniel, and finish my sentence. "Not really."

  "You've been weird since last night. If there's something you want to talk about—".

  I flinch. That line triggers me. He probably already knows what is bothering me and now is fishing for my reaction. He could just come and casually talk about her, but no! He wants me to ask about her.

  "We can talk later. I have work stuff to do. Thanks for the breakfast." I leave my things in the sink and walk out. Maybe I'm being too cold but I can't fix this now.

  I run to the room while texting Dean and Jessie to get ready to meet at the studio in 30min. I rush through my skincare and call a taxi. Frenetically, I put on my oversize black jeans and a printed crop top, light green scarf for the chill, big hoop earrings, white sneakers, and I'm going out.

  Daniel is standing in front of the door, still shirtless, arms crossed. He looks like an Abercrombie model auditioning for the role of Concerned Boyfriend.

  I kiss him goodbye. "See you later"

  "Love you," he says again, voice low.

  I want to say it back, but it sticks in my throat. I settle for a smile, then close the door behind me.

  As soon as I get out of the apartment, I get this electric feeling of a world full of possibilities. The sun is shining bright and my taxi is moving fast.

  I step into The Studio. Dean and Jessie are already here. I can smell coffee and hear them from the reception—typing on the computer and talking.

  "What's up, bitches?!" I scream while climbing up the stairs, and as soon as I make it up, I exchange a grin with Dean.

  "Bet you five bucks they've got donuts," he whispers.

  Jessie rolls her eyes. "You just want free breakfast."

  I laugh. "Either way, I'm not betting against that." I drop my things at my desk and sit at the conference table. "And if it's Dunkin' again, I'm sending Robert an invoice for disappointment."

  Jessie sits next to me with her tablet and a cup of coffee, ready to make notes, and asks, "What do you guys think the meeting is about? I mean, the e-email said everything, we're already in contact with Vain, and Anna's team. Is this weird for you guys?"

  Dean sits next to her and says, "What if he gave us the shoot but as part of his studio?"

  "I want our studio to be credited for the job or it's useless, honestly," I say, crossing my arms.

  "And we probably won't be able to share it on the studio's socials if it's under his company," Jess adds. She leans on the table, eyes bright. "So. Game plan. We're not just groveling, right?"

  "Groveling is plan B," I say.

  "Plan C is arson," Dean adds. He's not joking.

  The city hums outside the window, but inside the plants muffle everything except the tick-tock of the wall clock.

  There's a thud at the front door, and all three of us freeze. Seconds later, we hear the bell, and I get a text from Robert that reads ‘'. I run downstairs, open the door, and there he is—Robert, six-foot-five and every inch of him in tailored navy. He gives me his usual handshake. Beside him is our old co-worker Sophie. Looks like she got promoted.

  Trailing them, a mysterious new employee —Asian, tall, dark-eyed, the kind of handsome that feels inconvenient, who manages to make, "Hi, I'm Liam. Nice to meet you," sound like the most interesting thing anyone has said to me all week.

  Sophie says, "We brought donuts, and they're not Dunkin'!"

  I laugh and grab the bag. "Oh, thank god! Thank you," and lead them upstairs.

  "Welcome!" Jessie says, extra-bright, waving them in like she's greeting customers at a boba shop. "Coffee? Water? We have a French press."

  I lift the colorful bag Sophie gives me and show the guys. "Look! Donuts."

  "Oh! What a surprise!" Dean says, acting surprised.

  Sophie looks at Jessie, amazed. "The studio looks amazing! How do you take care of all these plants? Are they ALL natural?"

  I can see Jessie's proud smile. "Of course they are! It's easy because the studio has a lot of natural light, and just water and love." She makes her heart-shaped hands.

  We all sit at our conference table, and I start talking. "Well, first of all, I wanna thank you for the opportunity that you are giving us. You know this is very big for our studio."

  Jessie and Dean nod.

  Robert says, "I feel I have to repay you for the wedding client I sent you guys." He laughs. His laugh is so loud. Ugh, I forget how loud Robert is. Dean's face is pure hate for one second.

  "Yeah, that was really a journey," I say, brushing it off with my hand, "but it's all in the past now! And we are curious. Why did you want to meet us? I thought all the details were in the email you sent."

  Robert straightens in his chair and fixes his blazer. "I have a condition for the job."

  We immediately look at each other. Dean gives me the silent 'I knew it' look.

  "I want Liam to work with you, assessing the project. I want his feedback as the project evolves. I expect full transparency—no surprises." He says it plain and bluntly, like we have no option.

  "But if you are worried about your image, it sounds like we are working under your company label," I argue.

  He makes that laugh again. "You guys are so defensive." He locks both hands on the table. "Look, I'm giving your small studio a shoot with a big name in the industry. I know you are having a lot of exposure on social media, and this is exactly the moment to work with a renowned brand. I also know you can do this. But I made the recommendation for them to hire you, so I still feel my name is in the line."

  I see the curiosity on Dean's face. "Why are you giving this shoot to us? Don't you have a team for this?"

  "Honestly, right now my most creative teams are busy with Fashion Week. We are also doing something very complex with Pink's Back and I have some other team working with Rosalie. We have our plates full, really."

  Name-dropping much?

  He continues. "And I consider you guys my babies. I would like to see you grow. I think we can help each other in situations like this in the future."

  Liam stands up and does a small bow. "Hi, I am Liam. Project manager for iVisual. My task is to observe and inform as the project moves forward with the deadline, and if we have an inconvenience, we can back it up with resources from the company. I will try to not disrupt and be helpful if you need me."

  Okay, this actually sounds good. I look at my team and ask them. "Do you have something you wanna ask? or wanna talk in private about something?"

  Jessie shakes her head. "Nope, I'm good."

  Dean uncrosses his arms and makes a thumbs-up. "Fine by me too."

  So, I look at Robert. "Then we agreed. Let's do it."

  There's a long moment where I think, no way, it can't be that easy. Then we all stand up, and Liam extends his hand. "Looking forward to working with you." We wrap up the meeting and send the NDA. Then Jessie goes with them to the door.

  Dean looks at me and says, "So, we have a sexy babysitter."

  I laugh so hard I almost spill my coffee. "Guys, I'm gagging. He is so handsome."

  Jessie jumps in. "And his voice? Oww." she melts in the chair.

  Dean's already unboxing the donuts. "He said, like, twelve words, but it's definitely the voice of a man who could steal your girlfriend and your cat." We all laugh like it's a relief.

  The plants shimmer in the morning light, and for a moment, the world outside feels like a thing we can handle.

  Dean brings his notebook to the table. "Let's get to business. Starting with brainstorming themes?"

  I have a hunch. I know exactly what the theme for the photoshoot is. I look at them, confident, and say, “I think I’ve got it—and you’re going to love it.”