Bix stood there, one hand on his glass, feeling painfully aware of every word he was about to say.  

He hadn’t come here to impress her, and he knew he couldn’t—but gratitude, that simple human thing, still pushed its way up through the noise.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” he said finally. “For that day.”

Lilia Quell turned toward him, her posture unhurried. The ice in her glass clinked softly as she stirred it with a slim silver straw.  

“That?” she said, as if searching her memory. “That was nothing.”

“Not to me.”  

His voice was quiet, but steady. “You stopped someone from yelling at me in front of an entire lobby. That’s not nothing.”

She studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly, as if the topic didn’t need the kind of weight he was giving it. “You’re still standing, aren’t you? Looks like the world didn’t end.”

He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “Guess not.”

For a few seconds, the space between them filled with low music and the faint smell of gin. Bix could have stopped there—he should have—but some combination of exhaustion and cheap courage made him keep talking.

“Well… if you ever need deliveries again, you can just call me directly,” he said, half joking, half serious. “That way you don’t have to go through the app. Let’s not give the platform more commission than it deserves.”

Lilia blinked, caught off guard, then smiled—an actual, unguarded smile this time.  

“So,” she said, “you’re trying to steal business from the app?”

“No, no.” He waved his hand, instantly flustered. “I mean, just… if it’s convenient for you. I’m around that area most days anyway.”

Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “And how exactly are you planning to make money off me?”

He froze. “Uh… I wasn’t. You don’t have to pay. I just—”  

He sighed. “Forget it. It sounded less stupid in my head.”

“That would mean you’re losing money,” she said, tilting her head.  

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I lose money in more creative ways.”

Lilia laughed, the sound low and warm. For a woman who usually spoke in perfect measured tones, it sounded surprisingly human.  

Then she reached into her bag, took out her phone, and opened a messaging app.  

“At least let me add you,” she said, handing him the screen. “Otherwise, how am I supposed to find you when I need my coffee fix?”

He blinked, a little slow to process. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”  

She held the phone steady until he pulled his own out, fumbling slightly before scanning her code.  

Her name appeared instantly: **Lilia Quell.**

“There,” she said. “Problem solved.”  

He glanced at the screen, still half in disbelief. “So… what do I owe you for this marketing opportunity?”

“You can start tomorrow,” she replied lightly. “I drink one hot Americano at eight every morning, and another at three in the afternoon. You deliver, I pay—no platform middleman.”  

He grinned. “Deal.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. The bar’s low light softened everything—the tables, the air, even her expression.  

She swirled the remaining ice in her glass. “Honestly, I don’t usually come to places like this. It’s been a rough week. I just needed… space.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sometimes space has better lighting.”

That made her laugh again, and for a second, he forgot to breathe.

She finished her drink and stood, smoothing the hem of her top. “See you around, Bix Kutra. Don’t be late with my coffee.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” he said, smiling despite himself.

As she walked toward the door, her figure briefly caught in the amber light, he turned and saw Ryan and the others gawking from across the room—mouths open, disbelief written all over their faces.

He raised his glass to them, half amused, half stunned.

In his head, a single thought flickered—  

*Sometimes, your dumbest friends make the smartest decisions.*