I smile proudly, inhaling the sweet aroma of my homemade Cinnamon Toast Crunch pancakes. “Should I fry some bacon?” I ask Zaniyah.

Thank the heavens she’s up this early, or I might’ve just ordered some food and acted like I made it.

“Depends. How does she like her breakfast? Does she like bacon?”

“I have no clue. This is my first weekday morning—hence, the first morning we’ll be spending together out of bed,” I say, feeling a bit panicked. Am I doing too much? It’s still early, and I have no clue what this is, or where it’s going, or if she’s even open to being in a relationship.

“Okay, girly.” Zaniyah snaps her fingers, pulling me back to reality. “First, you need to breathe. Relax. Tell me how things are going. What made you want to make her breakfast all of a sudden?”

“Honestly? In my opinion, things are going great. I mean—it’s only been, what, two and a half weeks since I first slept over? And a week shy of a month since our after-clubbing escapades.”

I pause, flipping a pancake. “I usually just come over on Friday. She’ll send a Uver for me or make a stop in her Uver from work, and we’ll come here together. I’d spend the weekend, then head home by Sunday night.”

“Okayyy, I already know this. You know what I’m asking you, Ci.” Her voice softens toward the end.

I pick up my phone and peek into the room before tiptoeing to the bathroom—as if I wasn’t speaking at full volume the entire time. Cooking tutorial included. Like a teen sneaking in after curfew, I cautiously close the door behind me. Sliding down the tiled wall, I finally let myself relax. Partially, at least.

“It’s going good. Great, even. I don’t know how to explain it, but… I don’t want it to end. I feel safe here. Seen. Dare I say, loved...

“I don’t feel like I’m in some unknown competition or like I have to prove my worth—even though I still feel the need to." She lets me talk about anything and everything, and never makes me feel like a nuisance. I’m more comfortable here than I am in my own skin. If that even makes sense.”

“Sounds like you’re falling in love, chica.”

I look to the camera, expecting her to give me a look. ‘You know better’ or ‘Really, bitch’—even a ‘Come on now’. Instead, her phone’s propped up, facing her as she finishes her makeup.

“Zaniyah. Say something,” I plead.

“Like what? What is it you want me to say?”

“That I’m insane! That I’m setting myself up. That it’s only been a month and I’m practically head-over-heels for someone I already knew to be a non-committal flirt with a roster taller than her—who might’ve had a crush on my best friend. Or at least wanted to fuck her. That— that I should run before I get any more invested in this than I am now, whatever the fuck this is.”

The smoke detector blares—cutting Niyah off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I completely forgot about the fresh batter I added to the pan. I gotta go.”

I end the call before she can protest or finish her thought.

I run to the kitchen to see Ese standing there in her underwear—half asleep, confused, and... scared? Maybe?

“I’m so sorry. I was trying to make you breakfast. I forgot to turn the fire down when I ran to the bathroom.” I fan the air. “I’ll open a window.”

“Hey, hey. Calm down, crazy lady.” She wraps her arms around my waist, planting a soft kiss on my neck.

I let myself melt in her embrace, taking a deep breath and blowing the air out slowly before closing my eyes.

“Okay, I’m calm. I hope you like pancakes.” I turn to her and smile.

“I do,” she grins, reaching for the stack of perfectly golden, fluffy pancakes on the counter.

“Hey.” I smack her hand away. “Go brush your teeth, you heathen—and wash your ass? I don’t know how a sexless morning routine works with you.”

She frowns playfully, rubbing her hand like a fake-injured puppy. “Funny, coming from the one who initiates most of those sessions.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Mmhmm. I bet you do. We can shower after breakfast. Unless you’re already clean?”

“One can never be too clean.” I bite my lip, watching her scurry off to the bathroom.

I toss the half-cooked yet somehow burnt pancake and prep the pan again.

I stand there, dreaming of a future where this is normal—routine—in our established relationship.

“Wait, do you want bacon?” I yell toward the bathroom, pretending it’s part of the daydream.

“Yes, bacon, lots of it. And crispy,” Ese mumbles, head poking out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth.

I give her a confirming salute, laying out a good amount of strips on a foil-covered pan. Drizzle of oil. A little maple syrup for sweetness. Chef’s kiss.

I finish up the last two pancakes. Did we really need eight? Maybe not. I’ve never finished four pancakes in one sitting—especially with bacon and eggs?

Yeahh, imma make me some eggs.

Esmerelda finally comes out with glowing skin and a big smile, rubbing her hands together.

“Show me the pancakes.”

“Is that supposed to be a play on 'Show Me the Money'?"

“Maybeee. Now breakfast me, woman.”

I roll my eyes. I place the stack of warm pancakes on the dining table. Next come sizzling bacon and steaming scrambled eggs.

“Consider yourself breakfasted.” I wave my arm slowly over the food, showcasing my masterpiece.

Ese sets a plate in front of our seats, giving me zero seconds to sit before she’s already piling hers up.

“You gotta remake that this weekend. That way I can take a nap after,” Ese says, rubbing her stomach.

“You got the itis, huh?” I smile, not sure what makes me happier—her loving the breakfast or casually confirming our weekend routine.

“Yesss. You think Rora would let me sneak a nap before setting up?”

“You can ask, but I want no parts in the ass beating that follows.”

“Mannnn. This yo fault.”

“Next time, I’ll leave you to starve until you come to work and order the same breakfast you always do.”

“Who says I eat the same thing every day?”

“Esmeralda.” I look at her, lips pursed. “This coming from the woman who’s ordered the exact same meal every time I’ve been over.”

“God forbid a woman has a favorite.” She throws her hands up.

“That’s an odd way to spell baby taste buds."

“You do know that insulting my taste buds is also insulting the meal I just praised you for.”

“Touché.” Every mention of how much she enjoyed breakfast brings a smile to my face.

“What you over there smiling about?” she teases.

“Just happy you enjoyed breakfast.”

“Mmmm.” That's all she says.

And there it goes again—that look of confusion.
The same one she had when we were mak—having sex.
I convinced myself otherwise. That I’d just psyched myself out.
Scared of my emotions. Or worse—the rejection that may follow.

The ride gets quiet. A bit too quiet for comfort.
If it weren’t for the radio, the awkward air might have done me in.

I fidget with my phone, roaming through apps, hoping someone will finally reply to the group chat. Even though I know they’re both probably at work, prepping for the day.

The car stops. I let myself relax. I miss my girly. And I need insight—from someone who actually knows Ese. Hopefully better than I do.

Wait… not—what am I even saying?
Aurora and Ese have not been intimate.
She would’ve told me. Right?

Right.
I have zero reason to question my friend. And I won’t start now.

I shake off the thought, walking in behind Ese.

Aurora’s finger is suspended mid-air. “Don’t even ask.”

I giggle, giving her a mini hug before collapsing on the couch near her station.

Ese stands there, mouth agape. “You—How—Did she snitch?!”

“About what? Are you seriously asking to nap because y’all been fucking all night?!?”

“How’d you know I was going to ask for a nap?”

“Pleaseeee. I’m very familiar with that face + slouch walk combo by now.”

“Anycia.” She turns to me.

I pinch my fingers together, trace a line across my lips, and mime tossing the key to Rora instead of throwing it out.

“Wow. That’s cold. You really finna do me like that, bae?”

“Bros before hoes,” Aurora shrugs, crossing her arms.

“I’m your bro too!”

“Right. Right.” Aurora nods slowly, clearly stumped. “But you’re also the hoe of my bro. But you were the bro first. So does your bro-ness have seniority over your hoe-ness? Or does the sexual nature of y’all’s relationship automatically trump the already established bro contract?”

“Being that I was an established bro, one should not lose status or loyalty because—because… bros before hoes.”

“It seems we are at an impasse.” Aurora squints playfully at Ese.

“So it seems, indeed.” Ese mirrors her behavior.

I giggle watching the two of them go back and forth.

“Reconvene at lunch?” Aurora asks, tilting her chin up.

“You’re buying?” Ese squints further.

Aurora matches her squint… before slowly relaxing. “Agreed.”

“Agreed.” They shake hands, and Ese disappears into the back.

“Y’all need help.”

“You’re dating her and friends with me. So what does that say about you, madam?”

“Right. Right.” I nod, mocking her from a few seconds ago.

We share a laugh as she settles next to me.

“Soooo? Dish!”

…

Somehow, a ten-minute catch-up turned into a full-on vent session. And hours later, here I am. Same spot. Still on this couch.

I should go. But I don’t.

I let myself linger—innocently, of course.

The thought of Ese and me going home together quietly holds space in the back of my mind.

Aside from my obvious strapnosis, I genuinely enjoyed watching Ro create. Her focus while sketching is captivating. Whether she’s working freeform or on a commission. The joy that lights up her features when a rough sketch meets her standards. That mix of shock and glee when an accident ends up elevating or birthing a new vision.

Watching her in her element makes me want to revisit my stories. I’m unsure why I abandoned that side of myself or whether I want it back. It has this habit of using emotions I’d prefer to bury as creative fuel, which I find quite annoying.

Huh—Noticing a pattern here.

The bell rings. In walks a client with striking attractiveness. I turn to Aurora, excited, ready to bask in her artistic mastery. As always, she’s deep in her sketchpad, unaware of the world.

I part my lips to call her name as Ese walks out. Open arms, wide smile—she greets the client with a warm embrace.

…Interesting.

She doesn’t even notice me sitting here.

They walk over to her station, all smiles and giggles.
I, too, would love to know what the fuck is so funny.

Aurora's intense focus prevents her from stopping me. Unfortunately, she’s also too focused to fill me in.

I get up and head toward the bathroom, stopping just before the archway that leads to the back. I stand there, ear carefully placed against the privacy barrier.

Now, I know it’s for privacy—but like, nudity privacy. For underboob tattoos, or clit piercings, or something.

OMG!! What if she’s getting her clit pierced? What if it’s cute?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ese’s voice is flirty, teasing almost. It scared me; for a second, I thought I was thinking out loud.

“I know you haven’t called me in a while. You never texted me back that night.”

…What night?

They’ve exchanged numbers?!
Well—she’s obviously a regular.
But why would she be sad about not getting a reply… especially at night?

Booty call?

At this point, my face is basically smooshed into the barrier. The banter continues—light, but unmistakably flirty. Hints of some type of past involvement, or maybe current..

Ese gives her a heads-up, telling her she’s about to insert the needle. And the girl lets out a sound. Half gasp, half... moan.

I nearly lost it.

I stomp off to the bathroom, needing a moment to decompress privately.

Pacing.
Back and forth.
Asking questions I don’t even want the answers to.

Is she an ex? Is she trying to get her back?
Why was Ese flirting so openly?
Did I even cross her mind?

And why—
Why did she moan like that? And what the fuck was the cause of it?

Okay.
Breathe, Anycia.
Breathe.

Esmerelda is single. She can flirt with whoever she wants. Why she wants to flirt with anyone but me is beyond common sense.

What a slut!
UGH!

I need to get out of here.

I rush back to the couch, grab my things, and bolt out the front door.

“Bye, Aurora.” I don’t look her way. Don’t wait for a response.

If this were a cartoon, my head would be red with steam blowing out of my ears.

The bus pulls up just as I reach the stop. I fly in and slump into a corner seat in the back.

A long, frustrated sigh escapes as I rest my head against the window.

If I had a hundred dollars for every sigh I’ve let out because of this woman, I’d probably have a couple thousand by now.