Page 76 of The Toy Collector

Me: SOS!!!

Me: Are you back yet?

I look at the clock in the top corner. Hmm, it’s later than I thought. Normally, I wake up at the ass-crack of dawn without an alarm, but today I’ve somehow managed to sleep until 8:30 a.m.

Lee: No, bitch, I’m not back yet. I’m half an hour away. But what kind of SOS are we talking? Brunch? Chocolate? Alcohol? All the above???

I can’t help laughing.

Me: Definitely brunch.

After hitting send, I consider her other options, each one equally alluring.

Me: With mimosas and chocolate waffles.

Lee: Got it. Sunny Side Up as usual?

Me: Yeah. In an hour and a half okay?

Lee: It’s a date!!

I toss my phone onto the bed and head for the closet, yanking the doors open like I’m preparing for battle. No, scratch that—war. Because that’s what today feels like. A war between who I was yesterday and who I’m going to be now.

My eyes skim over rows of carefully curated outfits, but all of them feel too boring and safe for my current mood.

I crouch down and dig through the storage bins until my hand finds what I didn’t even know I was searching for. A pair of knee-high black leather boots with thin as fuck heels. I haven’t worn them since that Halloween party sophomore year, but when I zip them up, they still fit perfectly.

They’re bold, confident, and a little dangerous. Okay. Maybe this can work.

I feel ridiculous standing here in just the boots and my robe, so I quickly find some underwear and put it on.

Reaching for one of my black skirts that I never wear because it’s too short, I step into it. Yep, the length is just right. I pair the outfit with a short-sleeved, fitted, charcoal gray shirt that hugs my waist. The hem hits just above the skirt’s waistband, a soft rebellion against all my usual business chic attire.

Spinning, I pause in front of the full body mirror, hands braced on my hips. I feel like Enzo would hate this look, and that’s enough reason to choose it. The devil on my shoulder whispers that he might love it, enough to press me against the mirror and fuck me until the glass cracked.

Well, fuck that. This isn’t about him.

“Am I really doing this?” I whisper to my reflection. My mirror self stares back like it’s daring me to chicken out.

Instead of arguing with myself, I head back to the bathroom and brush my hair out. Leaving it down would be too easy. Too soft. I twist it up into a high ponytail, then wrap a strand around the elastic to hide it. It gives me more edge.

Makeup next. Not too much, not too little. I’m aiming for the Goldilocks combo, where it’s just enough to make me feel like I have control.

Black eyeliner, a little smoky shadow at the corners. Mascara, two coats. I slick on a matte plum lipstick—the kind that says I know exactly what I’m doing, even if I don’t. Just for the record, I totally don’t. I’m running on emotions rather than sense right now.

“Fuck!” I scream, letting out the frustration and anger festering beneath my skin.

I feel so… violated right now. And apart from gulping mimosas like it’s air, I have no idea how to deal with it.

Once my throat feels raw, and I’m on the verge of crying, I gather my phone, clutch, and grab a blazer I never normally wear. Feeling back in control, I leave the apartment and make my way to Sunny Side Up!

The place isn’t far away, so it doesn’t take me long to walk there. When I arrive, there’s already a throng of people waiting in line. I’m just about to call out for my bestie when she spins around.

“Pipes!” Lena squeals the second she sees me. Maybe it was the proverbial storm cloud above my head that alerted her to my presence. “Let’s get our mimosas on.”

She loops her arm through mine, dragging me past the line and straight inside. Sometimes there are perks to Lena being active on dating apps.

As soon as the door opens, I’m hit with the smell of buttery waffles, roasted coffee beans, and a hint of vodka. It’s warm and loud, crowded with Georgetown’s usual weekend brunch-goers.

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