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might not look like much, but they make the best food in the

city.”

“Great.” I swallow thickly.

A younger waitress with blonde hair tied up in a high

ponytail, black pants, and an oversized pink shirt that

practically comes to her knees, walks over. She’s nice, and at

just a nod from me, she flips over the huge mug off to the side

and fills it up with strong, steaming black coffee. She’s already

a hero in my books.

She takes both our orders for the pancakes, Steph’s

bacon and eggs breakfast, and a birthday cake shake, since

Tildy suddenly changed her mind and, when she asked what

the best shake was and was told it was birthday cake, decided

to go with that.

“I’m really sorry about the email last night,” Steph

says. Her hand curls around her coffee mug. She already had a

cup when we walked in.

“No. Don’t be. I’d be pretty frustrated with it all too, if

I was you.”

“But it’s…I don’t know. I feel like most of those

matches were really good. It’s not your fault. You’re doing a

great job. It’s me. I thought maybe I should just take a break

and see what’s going on with me. Maybe I’m just not ready.

Maybe I’m just doing this because of all the pressure from my

parents.”

It makes me feel giddy, like a kid about to step on their

first roller coaster ride ever, to hear her say that, but it also

makes me worried and sad. I don’t want Steph to be unhappy. I

know that it’s never going to be with me if she did find

happiness, but the irrational, jealous parts of me leap to