Chapter 1

For the holiday dinner, I followed the directions Forrest Yarrow sent me, the way I always did,

only to end up at the public restroom behind the restaurant.

Before I could even ask, his message came through.

"I'm your boss. It looks bad if we walk in together. Wait in the restroom for ten minutes, and come out once I give you the signal."

By the time I finally found the private room,

Betty Swanson was already sitting beside Forrest.

Out of habit, I ladled chicken soup into a bowl for him.

Forrest barely glanced at it, then waved a hand for someone to dump the whole thing, soup and bowl.

A coworker next to him sneered.

"Can't even suck up right. Don't you know Mr. Yarrow's a germaphobe?"

The next moment, Betty peeled a crab leg and set the meat in Forrest's bowl.

He ate it without even looking.

And under the table, he texted me again.

"Betty has mild depression. Don't hold things against someone who's sick."

I watched the two of them pass food back and forth,

while the coworker group chat went feral, thirty straight minutes of nothing but heart-eyes and everyone shipping the two of them.

After the meal, he ordered milk tea for everyone.

It was the iced jasmine milk tea Betty always drank.

Three hours into the dinner, Forrest looked me in the eye for the first time.

"Go downstairs and pick up the drinks."

Six years of a secret relationship, and for the first time I understood,

some things had to end.

...

I sat where I was.

"My hand hurts, I can't carry things. You know that, don't you?"

Forrest clearly hadn't expected that answer.

He froze for a second.

A coworker clicked her tongue.

"There she goes again, cozying up to Mr. Yarrow. Who's supposed to know her hand hurts? What a fake."

"Right. The drinks were ordered for Betty, and the rest of us are just lucky to get one. And here she is, this clown, putting on a whole song and dance."

The mood in the room turned strange,

so Betty stood up and said she'd go herself,

and only then did a few people scramble to head downstairs,

glaring at me on their way out.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

I didn't look, but I knew it was Forrest.

Probably accusing me of being petty, or something else.

Even though he was barely a foot away from me,

he wouldn't even look my way, all to avoid gossip.

He'd probably forgotten that my hand had been hurt making a cake for him.

Saturday, he'd said, rare for him, that he wanted some,

and I'd scalded both my hands red finishing it, carried it to the office, and even had to pass it off as delivery.

Then he'd turned around and fed the whole thing to Betty.

Through the blinds, I saw Betty smile at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Yarrow. The cake from that place is so good. Too bad you never tell me where you buy it."

"If you want more, I'll get it," Forrest said.

That was when it hit me why Forrest, who never cared for sweets, kept asking me to make desserts.

Only because someone else loved to eat them.

A hand set an iced jasmine milk tea down in front of me.

I looked up along that arm. It was Forrest.

Signals like this, the little secret ones, had always made me feel like something sweet was passing between us,

but for some reason,

all I could taste in my mouth now was bitterness.

Forrest stuck a straw into a new cup and handed it to Betty.

The words came out almost on reflex.

"Your period's coming up soon. Don't finish this one."

It set off a few coworkers cupping their mouths and cooing.

Betty flushed at the teasing and stepped back,

knocking over the half-finished bowl of soup.

The whole thing spilled across the hem of my dress, spreading in a wide stain.

"Oh no, Ann Coleman, I'm so sorry. Did it burn you?"

Betty's eyes had gone red with fright.

Then Forrest caught her wrist.

"Stop worrying about other people. What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Without a word, I got up and walked to the restroom.

Halfway through cleaning my dress, the grease just wouldn't come out.

Behind me, a coworker I got along with came over to call me.

"How are you getting home later? Is your boyfriend coming to pick you up?"

Just then my phone screen lit up.

It was Forrest.

"In a bit, walk to the bus stop half a mile from the restaurant. Once I've dropped Betty off, I'll come get you."

I swiped the message away and turned around, smiling.

"We broke up. I'll get my own ride home."