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Rachel walks in like she’s just come from a particularly successful Vogue cover shoot. Her heels click. Her smile is... suspiciously euphoric.

She sits. Smooths her skirt. Tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, still smiling.

I raise an eyebrow. “So. I take it, the coffee guy’s still around?”

Her grin turns criminal. “His name is Matt.”

Matt. Right. Adrian’s latest emotional origami project.

I school my face into something encouraging. “And how’s Matt?”

She exhales, dreamy. “Honestly? Kind of amazing. He’s... grounded. Decisive. He radiates this quiet confidence, you know?”

I nod slowly. “Quiet, like... emotionally intelligent quiet, or ‘says nothing and stares at you over the menu’ quiet?”

Rachel doesn’t even blink. “He ordered for me. Without asking.”

I pause.

“Oh?”

She clasps her hands like she’s praying to the Church of Alpha. “He just told the waiter, ‘We’ll do the salmon and the Syrah.’ Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I didn’t even mind.”

I blink. “You like salmon?”

“I hate salmon,” she says cheerfully. “But the way he said it? I wanted to like salmon. ”

Okay.

“And he paid,” she continues. “Just—no debate. Card already out. Said, ‘My treat. You’re my guest.’”

I try not to flinch.

Rachel leans in. “And then—get this—he said, ‘When I’m with a woman, I lead. Not because she can’t. But because I want to.’”

I stare at her. “That’s... a line.”

“It’s a good line.”

“It’s a suspiciously practiced line.”

Rachel waves a hand. “Who cares if it’s practiced? So is Broadway. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.”

Touché.

She pulls out her phone. “He sends me these little voice notes in the morning. Listen to this one.”

I brace myself as she hits play.

Matt’s voice comes through, low and slow, like he’s narrating a meditation app for men who lift.

"Morning, beautiful. Today’s intention: you’re worthy of pursuit, not performance. I’ll be thinking about you... while I conquer my goals."

I pause. “Is that a pep talk or a Peloton ad?”

Rachel giggles. “It’s hot!”

“It’s... heavily branded.”

She shrugs. “So is everything. At least this one comes with abs.”

Okay. Deep breath.

“He also gave me this little speech about how women are the prize, but the right man earns the privilege of pursuit through ‘energetic congruence.’”

“Energetic... congruence,” I echo.

Rachel beams. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

“It’s something ,” I say.

She sighs. “I feel safe with him. But also, like, super turned on. Like I want him to pin me to a wall and respect my boundaries, you know?”

“I do. I... deeply do.”

“And he never interrupts me. Not once.”

“That’s good,” I say carefully. “Though... do you ever feel like he’s waiting for his cue instead of actually listening?”

She tilts her head. “He does say ‘that’s valid’ a lot.”

I nod. “Mm. Classic empathy filler. Right up there with ‘I hear you’ and ‘Tell me more.’”

Rachel looks faintly troubled, then shakes it off. “Still. I’m not going to nitpick. He’s putting in effort. And he’s really into me.”

“I can see that.”

“And last night, he said he was reading a book about feminine archetypes. He said I give off ‘Queen energy with a hint of Muse.’”

My face doesn’t move. My soul quietly rolls its eyes.

Rachel bites her lip. “You think I’m being love-bombed.”

“I think you’re being... love-marketed,” I say gently. “Like, he’s saying everything right. The question is—what happens if he runs out of script?”

She’s quiet. Just for a second. Then: “I guess we’ll find out.”

I smile. “And if he ever says the words ‘divine feminine vortex,’ I’m legally obligated to intervene. ”

She laughs. “Deal.”

She leaves a few minutes later, floating out of the office like she’s been lit from within by a ring light and serotonin.

I stay seated. Let the quiet settle.

Rachel’s falling for a man who’s working overtime to be her fantasy.

And maybe, maybe he’s not faking.

But I know what happens when the fantasy runs out.

And something tells me this Matt isn’t built for endurance.

I close my notebook.

Let’s just hope Adrian’s course comes with a refund policy.