Chapter 6 Lacy
LACY
Ipaste on a smile as the lunch rush hits. Corporate types ordering flat whites and croissants while I mentally catalog inventory, supplier invoices, and the fact that my boyfriend just got suspended because of me.
Not boyfriend. Too soon for that word. Too fast.
Except it doesn't feel too fast when I remember last night. His hands. His voice. The way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of practical.
Focus. Work. Survive today.
"Lacy?" The voice cuts through my spiral. "You okay?"
I glance up. Tess leans against the counter, designer sunglasses perched in her hair, expression sharp with concern.
"Fine. Just busy."
"Liar." She grabs a muffin without asking. "I saw the blogger comments. The civic office called me for a statement. Want to tell me what's happening before I have to spin this blind?"
"Stone got pulled from the placement."
"What?" The muffin drops back onto the plate. "When?"
"This morning. Some councilwoman decided we're a conflict of interest."
Tess goes quiet. Calculating. She's good at this, reading situations, finding angles. It's what makes her brilliant at PR and occasionally exhausting as a friend.
"They're not wrong," she says finally.
My jaw tightens. "He's helping with the business. We're both adults. There's no actual conflict."
"Except he's assigned here through a city program. You're the placement host. The optics are terrible."
"Since when do you care about optics over people?"
"Since people I love are about to get dragged for something stupid." Her voice softens. "I'm not saying it's fair. I'm saying you need to think strategically. Blair's building a case and you just handed her ammunition."
The espresso machine hisses. I focus on steaming milk. Anything to avoid the truth in what she's saying.
"What do you want me to do? Pretend I don't feel anything? Send him away?"
"I want you to be careful." Tess reaches across the counter, squeezes my hand. "You fall fast, Lace. You always have. Remember Jordan? Three weeks and you were picking out apartments."
"That was different."
"Was it? You saw potential. You committed. Then reality hit and you spent six months untangling yourself."
Jordan. My ex before Evan. The musician with big dreams and bigger debts. I'd loved his passion until it turned into resentment when I wouldn't fund his third failed album.
"Stone's not Jordan."
"No. He's an orc from out of town with a temporary placement and political complications. Which might actually be worse."
The words land like slaps. I yank my hand back.
"You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am. That's why I'm saying this." Tess straightens. "Look, I like Stone. He's sweet and genuine and clearly gone for you. But you're already stressed about money, Aunt Rene, keeping this place afloat. Adding a relationship that's under public scrutiny? That's not smart."
"Love isn't smart."
"Exactly my point."
A customer approaches. I take their order on autopilot. Tess waits, patient and infuriating.
When they leave, I rest against the counter. Exhausted suddenly. Bone-deep tired.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to him. Set boundaries. Figure out if this is real or just chemistry and proximity."
"It feels real."
"It felt real with Evan too. Until it didn't."
Evan. God. I'd almost forgotten.
My phone chimes. Speak of the devil.
Still on for brunch Sunday? Need to talk to you about something.
I peer at the text. We'd scheduled this two weeks ago, back when Stone was just a clumsy orc who'd destroyed my awning. Back when brunch with my ex seemed harmless. Closure-adjacent.
Now it feels like a trap.
"Who is it?" Tess cranes her neck.
"Evan. We have brunch Sunday."
Her eyebrows lift. "You're having brunch with your ex while dating an orc who just got suspended because of you?"
"It was scheduled before Stone. And we're not dating. We're just—"
"Sleeping together?"
Heat floods my face. "Tess."
"Am I wrong?"
No. She's not. Which makes everything worse.
I shove the phone away. "I'll cancel."
"Don't." She straightens, eyes gleaming with that strategic light I've learned to fear. "Go. Hear what he has to say. Get perspective. Stone's situation isn't changing in forty-eight hours and you need space to think."
"That's manipulative advice."
"That's smart advice."
Maybe. Or maybe I'm just desperate enough to take any excuse for distance. For breathing room. For a chance to figure out if what I felt last night was real or just my pattern of falling too hard, too fast, for the wrong complicated men.
"Fine. I'll go."
Tess kisses my cheek. "Good. Call me after. I'll have wine ready."
She leaves. I return to work. The afternoon blurs into espresso shots and small talk and carefully not thinking about Stone's face when he told me about the suspension.
The hurt. The resignation.
Like he'd expected it all along.
Sunday arrives cold and bright. I dress carefully. Not trying to impress but not trying not to either. Jeans, sweater, minimal makeup. The kind of outfit that says I've moved on without screaming it.
The cafe Evan chose is new. Trendy. All exposed brick and Edison bulbs and avocado toast at eighteen dollars a plate.
He's already seated. Still handsome in that calculated way. Pressed shirt. Good watch. Hair product that probably costs more than my monthly coffee supply budget.
"Lacy." He stands, kisses my cheek. "You look great."
"Thanks. You too."
We sit. Order. The small talk flows easily because we've had practice. Two years of dating teaches you someone's rhythms even after you've stopped loving them.
"So how's the bookstore going?" he asks, cutting his eggs Benedict with surgical precision.
I take a sip of my coffee, overroasted, which figures, and consider my answer. "Surviving. Barely."
His brow furrows in that concerned way that used to feel comforting but now just feels patronizing. "Still stressing about the finances?"
Always. Every single day. Every time I check the accounts or see another bill in the mail or lie awake at three in the morning doing mental math that never quite adds up. But I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how close to the edge I'm running.
"I'm managing," I say instead, keeping my voice light.
"That's what you always say." He sips his mimosa. "Even when you're drowning."
I bristle. "I'm not drowning."
"Okay." He raises a hand. Placating. "I'm just saying you don't have to do everything alone. That was always your problem."
My problem. Like my independence was a character flaw instead of necessity.
"Is there a point to this brunch, Evan? Or are we just relitigating our relationship?"
He has the grace to look uncomfortable. "Actually, yes. There's something I wanted to discuss."
Here it comes. Whatever networking opportunity or business advice or well-meaning criticism he's been rehearsing.
"I'm taking over the regional management position. At Apex Solutions."
"That's great. Congratulations."
"Thanks." He pauses. Measured. "I'm building a team. I need a logistics coordinator. Someone organized, detail-oriented, good with people. I thought of you immediately."
I blink. "You're offering me a job?"
"A good job. Salary, benefits, retirement matching. Stability."
Stability. The word tastes like chalk.
"I run my own business."
"A business that's bleeding money. You said it yourself." He leans forward. Earnest now. "I'm not trying to insult you. I'm trying to help. This could solve your financial stress. Give you breathing room. Let you take care of your aunt without constantly juggling."
Everything he's saying makes sense. Logical. Practical. The kind of safe choice past-Lacy would have agonized over before eventually accepting because security is more important more than dreams.
But something in me recoils.
"What about the bookstore?"
"You could sell. Or close. Cut your losses." His voice gentles. "Lacy, you've worked so hard. You deserve a break. Let someone else carry the weight for a while."
Let someone else carry the weight.
Translation: let me carry you. Again. Like I did when we dated and he paid for dinners and vacations and slowly, subtly made me feel like I owed him something. Like love was transactional and I'd racked up debts.
"I'll think about it," I hear myself say.
"Yeah?" His face brightens. "That's great. Really. I think you'd be perfect for this."
Perfect for being managed. For fitting into someone else's structure. For being practical Lacy who makes smart choices instead of reckless ones like sleeping with an orc she barely knows and feeling more alive than she has in years.
The food arrives. I pick at my overpriced eggs while Evan talks about team building and quarterly projections and how much he's looking forward to working together again.
Together. Like we're a unit. Like the breakup was just intermission instead of ending.
My phone lights up. I glance down.
Stone: How's brunch?
Guilt twists sharp. I haven't told him about Evan. About the job offer. About sitting here listening to my ex paint pictures of stable futures while I wonder if stable means settling.
"Someone important?" Evan's voice carries an edge.
"Just a friend."
"The orc?"
I look up sharply. "How do you know about that?"
"It's all over social media. You and some integration program volunteer getting cozy." He shrugs. "People talk."
People talk. People always talk. Especially when you're doing something they don't understand.
"It's none of your business."
"I'm not judging. I'm just saying be careful. Those programs are political minefields. Getting involved complicates things."
"Everything complicates things, Evan. That's life."
"Not if you're smart about it." He reaches across the table, touches my hand. "You don't have to make everything so hard, Lace. Sometimes the easy path is okay. Sometimes it's better."
I pull my hand back. Gentle but firm.
"I should go. Thanks for brunch. And the offer. I'll let you know."
"Lacy—"
"I really do need to think about it. Alone."