The afternoon light filtered lazily through the greenhouse glass, casting soft shadows over the rows of herbs and hanging vines. Mark sat casually on the low wooden stool beside the counter, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of soil on the edge of his expensive watch — not that he seemed to mind.

“You’re really bad at this,” Kyle said, laughing as Mark accidentally knocked over a small pot of thyme.

“I’m a hotel tycoon, not a thyme whisperer,” Mark replied dryly, brushing the spilled soil off his pants.

Kyle grinned. “You’re the worst helper.”

“But I bring good coffee and charming company,” Mark quipped, raising a brow.

“Debatable,” Kyle muttered, but he was smiling — genuinely, comfortably.

That’s when Ryan walked in.

He froze for a second at the entrance, eyes flickering from Kyle’s relaxed posture to the way Mark was sitting too close, too comfortably. There was laughter in the air — a kind of easy, inside-joke sort of laughter. The kind Ryan hadn’t heard from Kyle in a long time.

“Hey,” Ryan said, stepping in and forcing a smile.

Kyle perked up. “Hey! You’re early.”

Ryan’s eyes briefly met Mark’s, the tiniest twitch in his jaw. “Didn’t realize you had company.”

Mark didn’t move, just offered a faint nod. “Afternoon.”

“Mark was just failing miserably at helping me sort new stock,” Kyle said with a chuckle. “You should’ve seen him trying to repot a basil plant. Tragic.”

Mark looked proud. “It didn’t die. That’s progress.”

Ryan folded his arms. “Didn’t know hotel owners had time for gardening.”

Kyle glanced between them, sensing the shift. “He just drops by sometimes.”

“Right,” Ryan said, his voice cool. “You two seem... close.”

Kyle blinked. “Well, we’re friends.”

Mark didn’t say anything. He just watched Ryan with that quiet, unreadable gaze of his, fingers idly turning his now-empty coffee cup.

Ryan’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess a lot’s changed.”

There was a brief silence. The air felt just a bit heavier, and Kyle shifted uncomfortably.

But then Mark stood and gently placed his cup on the counter. “Well,” he said, smoothing his sleeves. “I’ll get out of your way. Text me if the basil survives.”

Kyle laughed awkwardly. “It’s a strong plant.”

As Mark passed Ryan on the way out, he offered a brief, polite smile — the kind that didn’t need words to carry a message.

The bell above the door jingled again as Mark left.

Ryan turned to Kyle. “So... friends, huh?”

Kyle furrowed his brows. “Yeah. Why are you making it sound like that’s a bad thing?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away.

Because it wasn’t the friendship that bothered him.

It was how much Kyle was glowing because of it.