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I’m halfway through erasing “TRUST = TENSION + PRESENCE” off the whiteboard when Matt clears his throat like he’s about to recite wedding vows.

I don’t look up. “You good?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Rookie tell.

“I think I’m... in trouble.”

That gets my attention.

I turn. He’s hovering by the empty chairs like they might offer backup. “What kind of trouble? Legal, emotional, or text-message misfire?”

He hesitates. “Emotional.”

God. Not that one.

I sigh, cap the marker. “Sit. Talk.”

He perches on the edge of the table like a man about to confess to murder—and counting on you to help bury the body.

“It’s the girl from the coffee shop,” he starts.

I nod like, go on, even though I already know where this is going. The way he’s talking? He’s caught. Not by her. By the feeling.

“We kissed,” he says.

“Okay. Who initiated it?”

He looks away. “Me.”

“Details. Start from the top. Set the scene like I’m your editor and we’re trying to sell the film rights. ”

“We met for a walk. Coffee again, but to-go. Casual. She mentioned she had a tight schedule, so I suggested we walk around the reservoir.”

“Smart,” I say. “Movement keeps things light. Conversation flows easier side by side.”

He nods. “We talked about weird jobs. Hers was assistant brand manager at a pickle company in college. I told her about my gig handing out flyers dressed as a burrito.”

“A+.” I pause. “And the moment?”

He shrugs. “We stopped at the overlook. I asked if she ever felt like she was living her life in third-person. She said yes.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Jesus, Matt. That’s almost too good. You didn’t read that on a subreddit?”

He shrugs. “No. That one’s mine.”

I lean forward, elbows on knees. “Okay. And then?”

“I touched her arm. Light. Then I said, ‘I’ve been wanting to do something, but I wasn’t sure if it was the right moment.’”

“Solid. You gave her space to opt in.”

“She looked at me, and I said, ‘I think I just found it.’ Then I kissed her.”

I let out a low whistle. “You soft-launched a move and closed. You’ve been holding out on me. That was clean.”

“I practiced. In my head. Like... a lot.”

Of course he did. That’s why I like this guy. He doesn’t coast on charisma. He does the work .

“Okay,” I say. “Now the real question. Did you escalate further?”

And that’s when it comes.

“I did not,” he says. “I’m just... not interested in the performance anymore. I don’t want to escalate. I want to feel. ”

That’s bad. I pause. Stare.

“Matt. That’s how they get you.”

His brow furrows. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Women. Intimacy ninjas. They get you comfortable, let you talk about your childhood, and suddenly you’re planning dog names for your hypothetical future rescue. Before even getting anything real from them.”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t a trap.”

That’s what men always say when they are trapped.

I clear my throat. “So what do you want from me? Permission?”

“No,” he says. “Just... not ridicule.”

I blink. Then nod. Fair.

“I think I want a real relationship,” he adds.

I raise my eyebrows. “Already?”

He shrugs. “I’m not saying marriage. Just... I don’t want to mess this up by playing someone I’m not.”

Now I’m the one quiet for a second.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s say you don’t mess it up. Let’s say she’s real, and kind, and into you for all the right reasons. What then?”

Matt tilts his head. “Then I get to find out what it’s like to show up as myself.”

I nod once. Like I’m signing a permission slip I never got. “That’s the riskiest play in the book.”

He smiles, a little shaky. “Yeah. But you’re the one who said real connection needs risk.”

I grimace. “That does sound like something I’d say.”

He stands, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and I watch him walk out like he’s carrying something sacred in his ribcage .

I glance back at the board. TRUST = TENSION + PRESENCE.

I pick up the marker. And under it, I add:

+ Dumbass Hope.

Then I turn off the lights.