Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Ten minutes or twenty?” Channing asked, sounding resigned.
“Depends how weird it is,” Bea said as they crossed the street. They didn’t have time to linger long; her lunch hour was almost up.
He stopped three paces behind her once they were inside, posture loose, attention everywhere without advertising it. After a few months, she barely clocked the bodyguard choreography anymore.
Bea scanned the board, though she already knew what she was ordering. The unofficial national beverage of the UR. The one she’d been avoiding since she arrived.
“I’ll try the speculaas cold brew, please. To-go.”
The barista nodded with visible approval, like Bea had just passed a quiet citizenship test.
When the drink arrived at her little table, it promised something indulgent. Rich brown, ice cubes clinking, foam dusted with spice under the domed plastic lid. It was cool in her hand, yet smelled like winter holidays and roaring fires.
She sipped. And promptly gagged.
Aromatic, pungent, but without a hint of sweetness. All promise, no payoff.
She drank oat lattes with two sugars. And Papa’s castilian, which was basically pure melted chocolate in a cup. This was like bubble tea without the bubble, the tea, or any of the joy.
“Weird?” Channing asked, approaching, but not sitting.
“Gross,” Bea mouthed, not wanting to offend the people sitting around her, who were sipping the same drink with quiet satisfaction.
“You going to chuck it out?” he asked.
Chuck it out? She’d paid nine bucks for it. What did he think she was, a millionaire?
She stared at the cup. She wasn’t going to force herself to drink it as it was. Bea returned to the counter.
“Can you add condensed milk, please?” she asked, sliding the cup forward.
The barista hesitated. “That’ll make it sweet.”
“Good.”
He lowered his voice, as though they were conspiring. “You’re not meant to make it sweet.”
She smiled faintly and whispered back, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
The milk streamed in, transforming the drink inch by inch. Bea watched it with more focus than strictly necessary.
Then, almost as an afterthought, “Do you have orange zest?”
He gave her a strange look. Then reached under the counter and handed her a tiny spoon half covered in bright citrus curls.
“Thanks.”
She stirred as she walked back to her table, then took another sip. The bitterness didn’t vanish, but it had stopped dominating. The spice had somewhere to go, softened by milky sweetness, and the orange added a fresh snap.
“Drinkable,” she murmured.
She pulled up the Notes app on her phone.
Speculaas cold brew + condensed milk and orange zest (my additions)
Turns out it’s perfectly fine. You just have to fix it first.
Channing checked his watch. “We should go. Ready?”
Bea lifted her cup. “Almost.”
Incoming video call: Naomi, Georgina, Isabel
Bea wedged her phone against the dish rack and swiped.
The sink was full. Plates were stacked at precarious angles, cutlery floating in cloudy water. Housemate dinner night had been delicious, with a blatant disregard for the aftermath.
Naomi’s face appeared first. Then the screen split into thirds, and Georgina and Isabel each took a box.
No one spoke for a beat.
Bea scraped a plate. Rinsed. Set it down.
Georgie cracked first. “Bey, we owe you an apology.”
Her hands paused midair, but she didn’t look up. “For what?”
“For how we handled everything.”
Bea picked up a fork. “How did you handle it?”
“We’ve never had friends like you and Lils before,” Isabel started to explain.
Georgina winced. “That came out wrong.”
“What she means,” Naomi said, “is we’ve watched it happen to girls who didn’t grow up here, who married in. But it’s different when it’s someone you care about.”
Bea’s throat pulled tight. “It wasn’t just that you guys didn’t warn me. It was the feeling that you’d all decided for me.”
Georgina’s lip trembled slightly. “I wasn’t loyal. I should’ve been. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Isabel said quietly.
Naomi sighed. “Me the most. I had firsthand experience and I kept it to myself.”
Bea pressed both palms to the edge of the sink. Slowly, she nodded.
“How have you been?” Isabel asked.
“I haven’t been. I haven’t moved things forward.”
“Like what?” Naomi asked.
“The wedding planner,” Bea said as she rinsed a plate she’d already washed.
“You paused the planner?” Georgie repeated.
“Yeah.”
“And Rafael didn’t combust?”
A short laugh escaped her. “He’s…adjusting.”
“He’s obsessed with you.” Georgie chuckled. “And that’s how it should be. The law’s only romantic when you trust him and he’s obsessed with you.”
Naomi leaned forward. “Why don’t you come to Westhelm next weekend? We’ll host. You missed the last one.”
Bea turned off the tap. “Next weekend? That’s short notice.”
“I’m free,” Isabel said.
“I can shuffle things,” Georgie seconded.
Bea glanced at the screen as she wiped her hands with a dish towel. “You’re sure? With…everything.”
Everything being that her ex was also Georgina’s cousin. A man Georgie had always adored. Bea couldn’t expect her to switch allegiances just because Gage was in London.
“I checked with him,” Georgie assured her. “He said you deserve a good day.”
Bea didn’t answer for a second, unable to form words through the unexpected swell of feeling.
She folded the towel once, then again, lining up the edges with unnecessary care. Finally, she said, “What about rehearsals?”
“Let my understudy have her moment. This is more important.”
Lillian padded into the kitchen, hair wrapped in a towel and smelling like coconut bodywash. “What is?”
Bea glanced over her shoulder. “Going to Naomi’s.”
“Ooo. Can I come?”
Naomi smiled. “Of course, Lils, the whole bridal party’s invited.”
Bea bit the inside of her cheek. A change of setting, a chance to watch how this worked, and a trip to the capital. “Let’s do it.”