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"I don't kiss and tell."

"Since when?" Becca leans against the counter, blocking my escape route. "You told me every excruciating detail about Trevor's premature situation."

"This is different." The cloth's getting threadbare where I'm twisting it.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. It just..." My hands tremble as I try to reload the coffee grinder. "It was intense. Too intense."

"Too intense?" Becca's eyebrows shoot up. "Like, call-the-police intense or call-your-gynecologist intense?"

"Becca!"

"What?"

I abandon the grinder, dragging her into the break room. "It was... I've never... God, I can't even describe it. The way he touched me, like he knew exactly what I needed before I did. And his focus—like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered."

"That sounds amazing. So why do you look like you're planning to flee the country?"

"Because it was perfect. And perfect things don't happen to me. Perfect things are trap doors waiting to drop me into another emotional hellscape."

"Or maybe," Becca says, poking my arm, "you finally met someone worth taking a risk for. Someone who makes you forget to overthink everything."

I press my palms against my eyes. "That's what scares me."

"How is that something to be scared of?" she asks, almost indignant. "This is what you've been waiting for! It's what you deserve!"

"Look, Becca, you don't understand." I slide down the break room wall, sitting on the cold tile floor. "Every time I think I've found someone decent, the other shoe drops. Remember Marcus?"

"The guy who said your opinions were 'cute'?"

"Yeah. Or David, who wanted me to quit my job because working with other men made him insecure. Or Trevor?—"

"We don't talk about Trevor," Becca interrupts, sliding down next to me. "Jack's different."

My stomach flips at his name. "That's what worries me. He's so different it's scary. The way he looks at me, like he's trying to memorize every detail. The questions he asks—they're deep, meaningful. Not just the usual small talk guys use before trying to get in your pants."

"And that's... bad?"

"It's terrifying." I pull my knees to my chest. "Because if this is real, if he's actually as genuine as he seems, then I could really fall for him. And when it ends?—"

"If it ends."

"When it ends, it's going to destroy me. I can feel it." My voice cracks. "I like him so much already, Becca. The way my skin buzzes when he's near, how he makes me laugh, how safe I feel when he holds me. I haven't felt this way about anyone. Ever."

"Then maybe?—"

"And that's exactly why I should run. The higher I climb, the harder I'll fall."

Becca grabs my hand. "Or maybe you'll fly."

"When did you get so philosophical?" I try to joke, but my voice wavers.

"When my best friend started sabotaging her chance at happiness because she's scared."

The bell chimes and my heart stops. Jack walks in, looking exactly like he did before last night—composed, curious, with that same half-smile that makes my stomach flip. No hint of what happened between us, no trace of how his hands had...

"Good morning." His voice is steady, professional. "I'd like to observe your morning rush patterns, if you don't mind."