= Chris POV =
I managed a few hours of restless sleep before dragging myself out of bed for the midnight shift. My limbs felt heavy, weighed down by the knowledge that I had blown it with Sarah. Eight years of believing I'd never lose her, of thinking she was beyond anyone's reach—including mine—and the moment I tried to step closer, everything shattered.
The shower didn't help. Changing into my uniform didn't help. By the time I made it to the café, I felt like a ghost of myself, going through the motions without purpose.
"Chris, are you okay?" Marilyn asked, her brow creased with concern as I sighed over the dough.
"I don't know, Marilyn. Everything feels like it's falling apart," I muttered, pulling plastic wrap over the proofing bowl before sliding it into the oven.
She gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. "Maybe you should sit this shift out if you're not feeling up to it." With that, she turned back to her station, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I left the kitchen in search of distraction, wandering over to the coffee bar. It was mostly empty at this hour—except for Amber, who looked just as wrecked as I felt.
"I didn't know baristas started this early," I said, slumping onto a barstool and resting my head on my arms.
"I didn't know chefs were allowed to abandon their stations," Amber retorted, her tone dry as she poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter to me.
"Well, I think I'm all cooked out. This might be the end of me," I said, taking a sip. The bitterness hit hard, but I welcomed it.
"Lost the passion for the job already?" Amber asked, pouring a cup for herself.
"Not the job. My reason for living just called me a creep and told me I'm a lying pervert. Effectively she said she never wants to see me again," I admitted with a bitter laugh. "And the worst part is, she's not wrong."
Amber groaned, pulling up a stool next to me. "Tell me about it. Love's a goddamn nightmare. I thought Heather and I were on the same page, but now she's acting like I ruined her life. I mean, sure, I might've pushed a few boundaries, but how was I supposed to know she hated it?" She reached under the counter and pulled out a flask, adding a splash of clear liquid to her coffee.
"Is that—?"
"Yup," she said, not missing a beat. "Want some?"
Without waiting for an answer, she poured a generous amount into my cup. I took a sip, coughing as the burn hit my throat, but I took another anyway. It felt... appropriate.
"All I wanted was to see her every day for the rest of my life. Is that too much to ask?" I muttered.
"Same!" Amber exclaimed. "And now she's talking about going for some singles' night. Like, what the hell? If she wants a casual hookup, I'm right here! Why go looking for someone else?"
I sat up sharply, my mind spinning. "Wait, who are you talking about?"
"Heather. Who are you talking about?"
"Sarah," I sighed, deflating. "So they really did talk about me. And the singles' night is really happening, huh? Maybe I should figure out where it is so that I can give everyone food poisoning."
Amber smirked. "And I'll spike the drinks."
Our short session of sharing nefarious plans lasted all but 1 minute.
We both heaved a sigh, knowing we'd never go through with it. Ruining the café reputation wasn't worth sabotaging their crushes' chances of finding true love. Barely.
Amber perked up suddenly. "You know what? We should go. Let loose. Maybe meet someone new. Clearly, we're not good matches for these women."
"Yeah," I said sarcastically, swirling my coffee. "Because all I need is more rejection in my life."
"No, hear me out. We don't go to find someone else—we go to outshine the competition," Amber said, her grin devilish. "Dress up. Look good. Remind them what they're missing."
"Amber, be honest. Are you just planning to spike her drink and drag her home?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "I remember that night with Heather. You had that same look. What happened after you took her home?"
"I ravished her. I worshipped her for five hours straight. What of it?" Amber said, her face was dead serious.
"She was drunk, Amber. You know that's not consent," I said firmly.
Her mask cracked, and she slammed her head against the counter, tears streaming down her face. "I know! I know I fucked up! She won't look at me, won't answer my calls. And when she asked what we were, I panicked and said 'semi-friends.' But how could I tell her the truth? That I have a shrine of her photos in my locker? That I've been lying to everyone, pretending I'm into Ms. Jun, just so I can keep taking more pictures of her?" She looked up at me, her face a mess of snot and tears. "What the hell should I do, Fairfield?"
"For starters? Go home," someone said behind us in a low voice.