Chapter 24 Yoga Pants and Emotional Rants
YOGA PANTS AND EMOTIONAL RANTS
LUKE
Mere days before Thanksgiving, and Seattle is doing its best impersonation of a soggy existential crisis.
The sky is that washed-out gray that makes you question your life choices, the wind carries a sideways drizzle sharp enough to sting your cheeks, and every parked car is coated in a fresh sheen of damp regret.
It’s the kind of weather that makes tourists cancel boat tours and locals book therapy sessions.
I duck beneath the awning of Alder & Ash, one of Belltown’s most painfully curated restaurants, where the table linens are starchier than the clientele and the waiters wear vintage Rolexes better than I do.
Connor said there was a wedding venue emergency.
Something about a double-booked reception hall or a linen shortage or an emotionally unstable florist.
So of course, I came.
I make my way through the main dining room, dodging conversations about hedge funds and wellness retreats, until I reach the frosted glass doors of the private dining suite.
That’s when I realize I’ve been played.
The doors swing open to reveal Connor, Callum, Alex, and Grayson—already seated and smug, looking like the board of directors of Emotional Sabotage, Inc.
The table is set for five. A mimosa waits in front of an empty chair.
There is a whiteboard.
And written in bold, black marker across the top?
REASONS LUKE IS BEING AN IDIOT
Grayson looks up and grins. “He’s here. Operation Stop Being an Idiot is go.”
I freeze in the doorway.
“This isn’t about a wedding venue, is it?”
“Nope,” Connor says, blue eyes alert.
“It’s about your emotional constipation,” Grayson adds.
“And your tragic hair,” Alex notes, sipping something with citrus foam. “Seriously, Daniella showed us pictures. It’s not good.”
Callum gestures to the seat. “Sit down, Luke. This is going to be fun.”
It’s not.
I sit anyway. “So, we’re not discussing wedding venues, anymore.”
“Oh, we are,” Callum says. "The venue is your heart, and we're here to discuss why it's currently vacant."
"That's the worst metaphor I've ever heard."
"I workshopped it all morning," Grayson admits. "We also considered 'your heart is a prison and Sage has the key' but that felt too aggressive."
"This is an intervention," I state flatly.
"This is brunch," Alex insists. "With a side of intervention. The eggs Benedict here is excellent."
"I'm leaving."
"No, you're not." Connor's using his CEO voice. "Sit down, Luke. We need to talk about your spectacular display of self-sabotage."
"My what?"
"Your determination to snatch misery from the jaws of happiness," Grayson slides in.
"Your commitment to dying alone," Alex adds.
"Your transformation into a hermit who lives at the office and apparently doesn't own a hairbrush anymore," Callum finishes.
I touch my hair. "It's not that bad."
"It's approaching mad scientist territory," Connor says. "Daniella sent photos."
"She's a traitor."
"She's worried. We all are." Connor gestures to the whiteboard. “Which is why we're here."
"To list my flaws on a whiteboard?"
"To talk sense into you before you permanently fuck up the best thing that's happened to you since..." Grayson pauses. "Actually, has anything good happened to you before Sage?"
"I have a very successful company—"
"That's work, not life," Alex interrupts. "Mac wants me to point out that you were actually happy with Sage. She used the word 'glowing.'"
"I don't glow."
"You smiled," Connor says. "Genuinely. Without someone having to explain why something was funny first."
“I don’t even—“
"You bought flowers," Grayson adds. "Expensive ones. Without being prompted or threatened."
"You danced," Callum contributes. "Voluntarily. In public."
"You let a goat eat your shoes and laughed about it," Alex finishes. "That's not normal Luke behavior. That's happy Luke behavior."
"Are you all quite finished?"
"Not even close." Connor stands, moving to the whiteboard. "Let's review the facts. Sage hacked your dating profile—"
"A felony," I interject.
"A misdemeanor at best," Connor amends. "I had legal look into it. Also, irrelevant. She hacked your profile to meet you, not to steal from you."
"She lied—"
"To meet you," Grayson emphasizes. "Her grand criminal plan was to... what? Get you to notice her? Make you fall in love? Save her family's legacy? These are not exactly supervillain motivations."
"She could have been honest—"
"When?" Alex asks. "Hey, nice to meet you, I committed light fraud to get you here? That's not exactly first date material."
"Or second date," Callum adds. "Or third."
"The point is," Connor says, writing on the board, "she made a desperate decision before she knew you, then fell for you after. The order matters."
"Does it?"
“Fuck yes," all four say in unison.
"Look," Grayson leans forward. "I created a dating app specifically for assholes like this who are better at working with machines than women. Was it hard as hell to change? Yes. Am I mad that I did? No. I'm impressed and married to the best woman I know.”
"That's different—"
"How?"
"You weren't fucked over by your wife and cousin first!"
The room goes quiet. Finally, the real issue on the table.
"No," Grayson says quietly. "But I was convinced I was unlovable. Roz proved me wrong. Just like Sage proved you wrong."
"Sage proved I'm an easy mark—"
"Sage proved you're worth committing fraud for," Alex interrupts. "Do you know how romantic that is? She risked federal charges to meet you."
"That's not romantic, it's concerning."
"It's both," Connor says. "Like most love stories."
"This isn't a love story."
"Really?" Callum pulls out his phone. "Because I have approximately forty-seven photos from my engagement party that suggest otherwise."
He starts swiping through images.
There we are, seconds after she walked in, me looking at Sage like she hung the moon. Another of me leading her to the terrace where I thoroughly debauched every inch of her beautiful body.
I look determined. And eager. And stupidly happy.
"These prove nothing," I say, but the words are a crackled rumble—like shattering glass.
"This one's my favorite," Callum continues, showing a photo I didn't know existed.
It's after our terrace... interlude.
Sage is fixing my bow tie, and I'm looking at her with an expression I don't recognize on my own face.
"You look peaceful," Connor observes. "When's the last time you looked peaceful?"
I can't answer because I know the answer.
That night. That moment.
With her.
Grayson’s right.
Not about the dating app for emotionally illiterate men—though honestly, that tracks—but about the rest.
About me.
About her.
Because what if this entire time, I wasn’t protecting myself?
What if I was just hiding?
Behind logic. Behind routines. Behind systems and code and metrics I could control.
Because if I let someone in—really in—they’d see everything. And use it.
That’s what I believed. That’s what Veronica taught me.
That intimacy was just intel for future sabotage.
But Sage never weaponized my weak spots. She worshiped them. And when I pushed her away, she didn’t retaliate—she mourned.
Because she loved me.
And I think… I think I loved her back.
Not despite the chaos.
Because of it.
Because with Sage, I wasn’t a product or a prospect or a pawn.
I was hers.
And that never felt like a risk. It felt like a revolution.
"I need air," I stand abruptly.
"Luke—"
"Five minutes. I just... I need five minutes."
I escape through the kitchen, ignoring the startled looks from staff, and exit into the alley behind the restaurant.
The November air is cold and damp, exactly what I need to clear my head.
Or it would be…
If the alley wasn't already occupied.
It’s one of those times where you became acutely aware of how damn small Seattle is, after all.
Because there he is. Derek fucking Manning.
Leaning against the brick wall like a bad cologne ad, cigarette dangling from his fingers and ego thick enough to fog glass.
"Sterling," he says, as if we’re old pals catching up, not two men with a mutual connection named Sage. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
"Brunch meeting."
He nods, tapping ash onto the pavement. "Yeah, I’m here with Erica. Her dad loves this place. Something about the crab cakes being 'life-affirming.'"
He says it like he's in on a joke I’m not laughing at.
"She’s inside trying to get a TikTok with the oysters. I came out for air."
I say nothing. I hope that silence is enough to signal I’m not interested.
It isn’t.
"Heard you and Sage called it quits."
My jaw ticks. "You heard wrong."
He laughs—a smug, scraping sound. "Come on, man. You seriously thought that would work? A guy like you with a girl like her? That’s a PR stunt waiting to implode."
I stare at him.
"She’s got this thing," he continues, tone too casual. "Makes you feel like you’re the hero. Like you’re saving her. But it’s bullshit. Smoke and mirrors. She’s not your happy ending, Luke. She’s the setup."
"You don’t know anything about her."
"Oh, I know enough. Enough to get out while I still had my self-respect."
I move before I think.
One second, Derek’s talking. The next, he’s slammed back against the alley wall, my forearm pinning him at the collarbone.
The cigarette drops to the wet ground, forgotten.
"You ever talk about her again," I say, low and dangerous, "and I swear to God, Derek, I will goddamned end you. And not just physically. Digitally. Socially. Financially."
His eyes go wide. "You’re crazy."
"I’m brilliant. I own a cybersecurity empire. I can wipe you off the map without ever lifting a finger."
He sputters, trying to push me off. "You can’t threaten me."
"I’m not threatening," I growl. "I’m promising. You want to know what I do to men who disrespect women I care about? I erase them."
His face drains of color.
I lean closer. "You should be embarrassed, Derek. Not just because you lost her—but because you never deserved her in the first place."
He opens his mouth to argue. I tighten my hold.
“The only ‘setup’ I see is you—spinning stories to make yourself feel better about fucking up the best thing you ever had."
I shove him back hard and let him go.
He stumbles, scrambling for dignity, but the alley offers none. The back door opens, revealing two busboys on break.
They look at Derek, then at me, and say nothing.
They don’t need to.
Derek straightens, shoulders stiff, trying to play it cool as he mutters, "Whatever, man."
"Tell Erica I said hi," I toss over my shoulder. "And maybe keep her off SecureMatch. You wouldn’t want her meeting someone with a spine."
He disappears around the corner, shoes slapping wet pavement.
I stand there for a moment, breathing hard, watching the drizzle bead on the brick.
Then I laugh.
Not because it’s funny.
Because I finally get it.
I didn’t just defend Sage.
I chose her.
Even when she wasn’t there. Even when it wasn’t easy.
Even when it would’ve been simpler to agree with the bastard.
I chose her.
The door creaks open again.
Connor pokes his head out into the alley from the doorway. "What happened out here? Derek just blew past our table like someone lit his ass on fire."
"I told him the truth."
"About Sage?"
"About me. Because I'm..." My pulse pounds, making my skin hum. I turn to face him. "I'm in love with Sage."
"Yes, we established that forty minutes ago. Keep up."
"No, I mean... I'm in love with her. Present tense. Current state. Active condition."
"Again, we know. There was a whole whiteboard."
"I have to get her back."
"Finally.” Connor fully exits into the alley. "What changed?"
"I just realized I was ready to commit assault and battery for a woman who hacked my dating profile." I swipe unsteady fingers through my admittedly unkempt hair. "That's not normal behavior."
"No, but it's romantic. In a deeply concerning way."
"How do I fix this?"
"Well, first you come back inside and eat eggs Benedict—"
"Connor."
"Right. Serious mode." He considers. “Prove yourself.”
“How?”
"I don't know. What do people do in romantic comedies?"
“Do I look like I watch romantic comedies?”
"That explains so much." He sighs. "Okay, think. What does Sage need?"
"She needed money. I sent a check."
"Jesus, Luke. Emotionally. What does she need emotionally?"
I think about Sage on her porch, crying in the rain. Sage saving the inn. Doing what no one else in her family would do—could do.
Being the one person who put everything on the line.
"She needs to know I choose her," I say slowly. "Not her inn or her business or what she can do. Her."
"Okay, that's good. How do you show that?"
"I..." I pause. "I need to make some calls."
"To who?"
"Everyone." I'm already pulling out my phone. "I need Daniella, the SafeStay team, maybe a goat..."
"A goat?"
"Buttercup. She's essential."
Connor stares at me. "Are you having a breakdown?"
"No. I'm having a breakthrough." I grab his shoulder. "Tell the others I'll be back. I need to get my shit together."
“And what shit would that be?”
But I’m already heading back through the restaurant, phone pressed to my ear, already calculating logistics.
Connor follows, probably to report back to the intervention committee.
Daniella picks up after one ring.
"Dani. I need you to cancel everything for the next week... Yes, everything... No, I haven't been drinking... Much... Look, just trust me." I swallow. “What do you know about animal adoption laws in the state of Washington?”
Connor blinks. “Animal adoption—What the hell are you getting yourself into?”
I lower the phone. “I’m getting myself into a fucking mess.”
I used to think love was a liability.
Now I’m starting to think it’s the only asset worth risking everything for.
I grin, feeling energized for the first time in weeks.
Jesus, I’m such a mess right now.
And for once in my life, that's exactly what I'm aiming for.