Page 17 of The Cyrano Situation
Cyril frowned, clearly confused by my sudden shift in mood. "You could stay if you want. Watch another movie?"
The offer was tempting. Too tempting. "I've got an early morning tomorrow. Marketing meeting for the Patterson launch."
"Right," he said, following me to the kitchen where I deposited the containers in his trash. "Thanks again for coming over. Crisis averted, as usual."
"Anytime," I said, and meant it, despite the complicated feelings churning inside me. I grabbed my jacket from the back of a kitchen chair. "Let me know how it goes with Jules. I'm sure he'll text again tomorrow."
"I will." He walked me to the door, hovering awkwardly as I stepped into the hallway. "Goodnight, Hart."
"Night, Cyril."
The door closed behind me, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the peeling paint of his apartment number. What waswrong with me? This was exactly what I'd signed up for—helping a friend navigate a relationship he was too anxious to handle alone. I should be glad it was going well, glad that Jules seemed to be a decent guy who was willing to take things at Cyril's pace.
Instead, with every message we crafted together, every smile that lit up Cyril's face at Jules's responses, I felt myself sinking deeper into a realization I'd been fighting for weeks.
I was in love with my coworker. The introvert from my office. The friend from the office I’d thought I was just trying to get to come out of his shell. And I was actively helping him fall for someone else.
The elevator chimed at the end of the hall, startling me out of my thoughts. As I walked toward it, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my sister:Free for lunch tomorrow? Need advice.
Her response came immediately:Always free for you. Advice on what?
I stepped into the elevator and pressed the lobby button, considering how to answer. Finally, I typed:
How to be happy for someone you love when they're falling for someone else.
Oh, Hart,came her swift reply.Bring wine. This is definitely a wine conversation.
I pocketed my phone as the elevator descended, my chest tight with the weight of my revelation. I'd keep my promise to Cyril. I'd help him with Jules for as long as he needed Jules for as long as he needed me. I'd be the friend he deserved.
Even if every message felt like I was writing myself further out of the story I truly wanted to be in.
Chapter Six - Yirgacheffe
Cyril
I'dspentthepastthree mornings in a row perfecting my coffee order. Not because I'm particular about coffee (though I am, admittedly, very particular about coffee), but because I'd discovered Jules is a coffee enthusiast. And if I was going to text with a coffee enthusiast, I needed to at least sound like I knew what I was talking about.
"Single-origin Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, medium roast, pour-over with no room for cream," I told the barista at the café across from Pinnacle Publishing's offices. I'd practiced saying it without stumbling over "Yirgacheffe" at least twenty times in the mirror this morning.
The barista, her name tag read "Aura", raised an eyebrow. "That's new for you. Usually, you get the house blend with exactly one and a half packets of sugar."
I felt my face heat. "I'm expanding my horizons."
"Good for you," she said, writing my order on the cup. "Any particular reason?"
"Just... trying new things." I handed over my card, avoiding eye contact.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with you being on your phone all the time lately, would it?" Aura asked, swiping my card with a knowing smile.
A month ago, I would have died of mortification at being so transparent. Now, I managed a small smile and a shrug. "Maybe."
Progress. Definite progress.
My phone buzzed as I waited for my coffee, and I felt the familiar flutter in my chest when I saw Jules's name on the screen.
Just finished grading 37 papers on Austen's use of free indirect discourse. Kill me now. What's your morning looking like?
I smiled and typed back, barely even analyzing my response:
