Chapter 7
Kari
“…and long story short, I’m living the dream,” I deadpan as I pick at my fries. “Back home with my parents. I wake up every morning to wedding planning and customer complaints.” I frown and lightly thunk my forehead against the tabletop feeling defeated. “My job sucks.”
We’re tucked into a booth at a little neighborhood place that smells like fryer oil and grilled onions.
The lights are low and the vinyl booths are cracked with years of wear.
The dinner rush has thinned, leaving behind a hum of conversation and the tinny clink of silverware against cheap diner plates.
“Hey.”
Grey reaches across the table, his fingertips brushing my hair back from my face. The contact is gentle, unthinking, like he’s done it a hundred times before. But I don’t want to think about him being so careful with another girl.
His thumb tips my chin up, just enough that I’m looking at him instead of the scratched tabletop. The shift in my mood is instant. Embarrassing, really. One touch and he flips a switch inside me and all the static in my head quiets.
I hate how good that feels. But only because I know he isn’t someone I can have.
He studies me like he’s listening to my soul, my thoughts. He glances at my plate and picks up one of my fries and brushes it across my lips.
I blink, then laugh softly and let him slip it into my mouth. And it’s good. Delicious.
It’s such a small thing. He doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t mention that I’ve barely touched my food. He just… feeds me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You know what I think?” He leans back. “I think you’re resilient.”
I arch a brow. “Resilient? Me?”
“Yes you.” He picks up another fry. “You’re patient, have more fortitude than most, and an ability to keep your cool under pressure.”
I snort. “I don’t like any of that.”
“Why?” he asks. “Because some middle-aged guy thought he was above the law and tanked the company? That isn’t on you.” He shakes his head. “Don’t waste another second thinking about that dick.”
I laugh despite myself. He takes the opportunity to put another fry in my mouth, that I eagerly chew.
“This is an opportunity,” he adds.
I pause. “Opportunity?”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “When one door closes, another one opens. You just have to decide which one you’re walking through.”
I chew slowly, considering that. “I mean… I’m working on it. It’s just slow going.”
Grey leans forward, interest sparked. “What are you working on?”
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how small it sounds out loud. “It’s nothing really. Just something on the side. It won’t pay real bills.”
“Try me.”
I glance at him. “You’re not allowed to laugh.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I know what that’s like,” he says. “You can tell me. Promise.”
And the thing is—I do trust him. I always have. Grey has been a constant my entire life. The kind of person you fall back on without worrying whether they’ll be there.
“Fine,” I say, exhaling. “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me one. Deal?”
His mouth curves into a slow grin. He reaches across the table and hooks his pinky around mine.
“Pinky swear.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Spill it,” he says. “What’s your top-secret plan?”
I roll my shoulders, settling into the booth. If I’m going to say it, I might as well own it.
“Virtual assistant to the movers and shakers of social media,” I say, a little embarrassed.
“Helping content creators manage their platforms. Scheduling posts. Engaging with followers. Growing their audience. A lot of people are good at making content, but terrible at the backend stuff. Analytics, strategy, consistency.”
I warm as I talk, words coming easier now. “I’ve been studying trends, algorithms, engagement patterns. There’s a real need for it. I could work remotely. Build a client base. Scale it into something real.”
Grey listens, his eyes steady on mine. Not a hint of amusement on his face.
“But,” I add, softer now, “it’s not exactly a guaranteed paycheck.”
I trail off—and that’s when I notice the faint wrinkle between his brows. The look he gets when he’s thinking too hard.
I’m not sure whether he thinks it’s brilliant… or I’m off my rocker.
Grey
Kari finishes explaining her idea, and it’s a good plan. A really good one. She’s always been good with numbers, good at systems, good at seeing how things fit together when everyone else just sees a mess.
Even when we were kids, she was the one figuring out how to sell extra lemonade, or how to combine her babysitting money with creative bargaining to get more bang for her buck. She thinks she’s floundering right now, but all I see is someone recalibrating.
I can see how much I could use someone with her skills. When I finally get my gym off the ground, I’ll need strategic reach to get and keep the kind of clients I want. Strategy. Someone who knows how to build something online without it getting lost in the noise.
As much as I rely on Fans Only right now, it’s not what I want to be known for. I don’t want my livelihood tied to my body, to people consuming me without seeing anything deeper. I want to help people feel strong. Capable. Comfortable in their own skin. I want substance, not flash.
The silence stretches just long enough for Kari to misread it.
“You think it’s silly, don’t you?” she asks, trying not to sound disappointed.
I shake my head immediately. “No. Not at all.” I lean forward. “It suits you. Have you picked up any clients yet?”
Her shoulders loosen a little. “A few. Mostly small accounts. I’ve been researching, building a list of creators I want to reach out to.”
Something flickers across her face then—a private amusement—and my stomach tightens.
“What?” I ask.
She just smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I make a mental note to come back to that.
“What kind of clients are you looking for?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Right now? Anyone who’ll pay. But eventually…” She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I want to work with people who offer real value. Not just endless product endorsements or pointless fluff. And definitely nothing political. That’s a mess I don’t want to wade into.”
Smart.
A server swings by to clear our plates, asking if we need anything else. Kari thanks her, and when we’re alone again, she turns to me with a grin that feels downright mischievous.
“Okay,” she says. “Your turn. Spill. What’s your big secret?”
She rubs her hands together like she’s about to get the lowdown on some juicy gossip.
I haven’t mentioned my Fans page to anyone, not even Darby.
I don’t know if Kari will be disappointed that I’m basically selling my body for services rendered.
Not that I have any contact with my followers.
I rarely follow up on DMs unless it’s a legit question.
“Ice cream first,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re stalling.”
“Nope.” I smile. “I just remember how much you love that place a couple blocks over. We can walk and talk.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat ice cream,” she says immediately. She wraps her arms around her waist, hiding her body.
“Yes, you can,” I assure her.
She opens her mouth to argue, then stops. Sighs. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say, “you’re coming with me.”
Outside, the air’s cool enough to raise goosebumps on the back of my neck. Kari tucks her hands into her sleeves.
“Want to drive over?” I ask.
“Nah.” She shakes her head. “The walk’s nice.”
If I had a jacket, I’d offer it to her, but instead I pull her closer, tucking her into my side. She snuggles into me, not seeming to mind.
“Body heat,” I say. “Two people are warmer than one.”
I try not to think about how natural it feels, how much I like the feel of her against me. But that’s a tall order to fill.
At the ice cream shop, she orders chocolate chip, same as always. I get a salted caramel espresso something or other, that sounds fancier than it is. We take a window seat, and dive into our ice cream.
“Confession time,” she says, spoon hovering over her cup.
I take a breath. “I’m saving money to open my own gym. I’ve already got my personal trainer certificate. I just need a place to put it to use.”
Her face lights up. “That’s an amazing idea. I mean—look at you. You’re already a walking advertisement.”
My smile falters despite myself. “Yeah.”
She notices immediately. Reaches across the table, her fingertips brushing mine. “Did I say something wrong?”
I look down at our hands. The contact grounds me.
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s just… I want to be known for more than what I look like.” I nod vaguely at my body. “I want to build something that helps people, not just… gets attention.”
She studies me, understanding dawning in her eyes. I know she gets it. I can tell by the way she tries to hide herself when any attention lands on her body. I slide my fingers between hers, unable to stop myself.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask.
She squeezes my hand. “Of course. You can tell me anything.”
For a split second, I almost tell her the secret I’ve carried for as long as I can remember. The one that has nothing to do with my side hustle and everything to do with her.
Almost.