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Chapter Three

Tahlia

June 7th

T he bell rings while I push open the door to Early Bird Cafe, the cozy brunch spot that's become my weekend sanctuary. The smell of pastries and coffee is the first thing I notice, calming me as I look for Lauren.

"Tahlia! Over here!"

And there she is.

Her voice cuts through the chatter, and I spot her waving from our usual corner table. Sunlight streams through the window, catching the highlights in her hair.

I weave between tables, mumbling apologies as my oversized tote bag bumps a few chairs and heads.

“Oh, excuse me—” I wince as my tote smacks into the back of a chair, the metallic clink of keys inside drawing a sharp glare from the woman seated there.

“Watch it!” she huffs, adjusting her sweater on the chair’s back.

“Sorry, my bad!” I duck my head, gripping the straps tighter as I squeeze past another table.

“Whoa, careful there,” a man mutters, jerking his coffee cup out of harm’s way just as my bag grazes the edge of his table.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble again, my face heating when I sidestep a kid spinning in his chair, the corner of my bag brushing his shoulder.

“Hey!” he protests, but his mother shushes him with a distracted smile.

I mutter another apology, my breath catching when I nearly knock over a stack of menus.

My sister stands to greet me, pulling me into a hug that smells of her signature vanilla perfume.

"Glad you made it," she says, giving me a squeeze before we sit. "The way you’ve been studying, I was starting to wonder if your textbooks had swallowed you whole."

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. "You act like I’d miss this. You know better."

Lauren looks flawless, as usual—coral summer dress, pearl earrings, her hair swept into a perfect updo. Meanwhile, I’m in a wrinkled T-shirt and leggings, feeling every bit as thrown together as I look.

"So," she begins, leaning forward, "you look like you’ve been through it. What’s going on?"

"My neighbor, that's what. If only he'd grant me the peace to actually rest."

"Still at it, huh?" Lauren takes a sip of her mimosa. "What's it been, three nights in a row now?"

I nod, rubbing my temples as the memory of the last three nights floods back. “It’s not even just the noise; it’s the sheer audacity. I’m sitting there, trying to focus on tort law, and all I hear is the thump-thump of his music covering his raunchiness or the headboard slamming against the wall.” I gesture with my hands, mimicking the motion for effect. “Then, on top of that, the one from last night was screaming out stuff like, ‘Oh, baby! Yes, yes!’ Like, really? Do they not have volume control ?”Lauren snorts into her mimosa, choking slightly as she sets the glass down. “Wait, wait,” she says, waving her hand. “She’s actually yelling, ‘Oh, baby’? Are we talking amateur hour or what?”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “That’s not even the worst part. Last night, I was so desperate for quiet, I tried shoving tissue in my ears. But then—get this—the picture frame on my wall literally fell on my head because of all the headboard action next door.”

Lauren throws her head back, laughing so loud the table next to us glances over. “You’re kidding! I can’t decide if I feel bad for you or if I admire the stamina of your neighbor.”

“Oh, trust me, there’s no admiration. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I might lose it and march over there in my bonnet and pajamas to tell him to shut it down.” I shake my head, though the thought isn’t entirely off the table. “Seriously, though. Who even has that much energy?”

My stomach growls, cutting off any response. I open the menu that was already placed there when I arrived. "I need coffee to get past last night." I wave down a waiter.

"Yes, ma’am. What can I get you? Besides my phone number?" he asks with a smooth grin.

I blink, momentarily caught off guard. Maybe I don’t look as terrible as I feel. "A tall mocha latte would be great, thanks."

"Not a problem," he says with a wink before strolling off, confidence trailing behind him.

Lauren watches him go, her smirk already forming. “You know," she says, leaning in, "maybe this neighbor situation is a sign. When's the last time you let loose a little?"

I snort, fidgeting with my napkin. "‘Let loose’? Sis, I barely have time to breathe between case studies and mock trial practice.”

Lauren's laugh is warm and infectious. "Fair enough. But all work and no play makes Tahlia a very cranky lawyer-to-be.”

I manage a small giggle. "Very original. Thanks."

“I’m just saying, if you're that envious, maybe it’s time to dip a toe back into the dating pool. Or are you still playing hermit in that luxury condo of yours?"

I flip through the menu, avoiding the question.

"Oh, so we’re just pretending I didn’t say anything? That’s what we’re doing?" Lauren teases, her eyebrow raised.

“Laur, I heard you. You know my answer about relationships, so I’m not gonna waste time rehashing it.”

She shrugs, not letting up. "If you’re serious about passing the Bar and fighting for your clients, you best prepare yourself for all the back and forth. You’re going to argue with other attorneys, the judge, your peers… even yourself. I bet you’re mentally arguing with the noisy frat boy next door."

She’s not wrong. The truth is, I haven’t dated in months. The last two months have been consumed with Bar prep. Sure, I graduated and have my JD, but passing the Bar is my number one priority. Everything else—dating, fun, even sleep—has taken a backseat.

“Here you go,” The waiter sets my latte down with another wink before rushing off. I push his attempt to flirt aside and refocus on Lauren.

“I’m not interested in dating anyone, no matter how fine they are or how much my virginity is supposedly restored. I almost missed signing up for the bar, and I can’t afford distractions. Saturdays are for us, Sundays and evenings are for studying. That’s it.”

The waiter returns to take our order. “Okay, ladies. What can I get you?”

Lauren smiles. “I’ll have the eggs Florentine with a side of turkey bacon and wheat toast,”

“All right, and you miss. What can I bring you?”

“I’ll have the shrimp and grits, please.” I reply.

“You got it," he says before walking off, this time without any added flirtation.

Lauren clears her throat softly, drawing my attention back. "Okay, T. I won’t push anymore. So, how’s studying going? Do you need me to come over and help?"

"It’s going well—when I can actually study," I mumble, taking another sip of coffee.

“Ah yes. We’ve circled back to the neighbor issue. Have you filed a complaint?”

“No. Not really. I’ve written a few emails and letters saved on my computer. I’m going to go over noise ordinances later and prepare a document to leave under his door. That’ll show him.”

Lauren groans, shaking her head. "That’ll show him? Sis, where’s your fight? You used to be so hot-headed we had to stop you from going off on people. Now you’re this robotic bookworm, worried about an exam you’ll no doubt ace."

“Are you saying I shouldn’t take my studying seriously?”

"No, not at all. You graduated in the top one percent of your class at Harper, and you’re already working with some of Nashville’s top corporate lawyers. I don’t know how you think you’ll fail. But Tahlia, honey, you’re allowed to have a life outside of your career goals. When’s the last time you did something just for fun?"

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. When was the last time? The realization hits me hard, and I slump back in my chair, feeling the weight of her words. I grab my water, sipping it as I allow the moment to sit with me. Am I really so stuck in my grind I’ve forgotten how to enjoy life? The thought hits, and I can’t shake it. I try to think back—when was the last time I did something fun or even reckless? Nothing comes to mind. Maybe Lauren’s got a point. Maybe I’ve been so focused on getting through each day that I haven’t stopped to actually live. The idea doesn’t sit right, but it’s not exactly wrong either. A part of me wants to brush it off, but another part—the one I usually ignore—knows I’ve been coasting on autopilot for way too long.

The waiter sets our plates down with a quick, “Enjoy, ladies,” before scurrying off. The smell of the shrimp and grits hits me first—creamy, buttery, with a hint of spice that makes my stomach growl even louder. Lauren’s plate looks just as good, the hollandaise on her eggs Florentine glistening under the café lights.

“Oh, now this,” Lauren says, picking up her fork, “is exactly what I needed. Who knew mornings could be saved by hollandaise sauce?”

“Or shrimp,” I add, spearing a plump piece from my plate. The burst of flavor has me forgetting about the disaster that is my neighbor. “You know, if mom served this at home, I might’ve been a morning person.”

Lauren raises an eyebrow. “You? A morning person? Please. You’ve been allergic to waking up early since we were kids.”

“Okay, fair,” I admit between bites. “But this…this might’ve converted me.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Eventually, Lauren glances up, mischief dancing in her eyes. “So, speaking of mornings… do you think your neighbor’s going to wake you up again tonight? Or are you planning to let him know who’s boss?”

I sigh, swirling a piece of shrimp in the creamy grits. “If he does, it’ll be night four. At this point, I feel like I should just leave a note on his door.

Dear neighbor, I don’t need to hear your greatest hits playlist every night.”

Lauren nearly spits out her drink, laughing. “You’re a mess.”

An obvious sigh of frustration seeps out during my silent thinking.

“You okay, little sis?” Lauren asks between chews.

“Yeah. Just worked up about my study schedule tonight.” I pick up my glass to take a sip.

“Maybe you wouldn't be so worked up if you let yourself have a little fun—either with someone or with a little help.” She waggles her eyebrows.

I place the glass back on the table before I do a spit take, laughing at her playful facial expression.

"I am not discussing my… personal pleasure devices over shrimp and grits," I say, trying and failing to hold back a grin.

Lauren throws her head back and laughs, the kind that's full-bodied and contagious. It draws curious glances from nearby tables.

The grits comfort me with the thoughts in my mind. I want to brush off Lauren's suggestion, insisting I'm fine, focused, in control. But another part—the one I've been ignoring for too long—whispers that maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

We finish our brunch with lighter chatter —Lauren filling me in on her latest case, me venting about Bar prep, and a few shared laughs about family drama. The tension from earlier melts away, and for the first time all week, I feel like I can breathe again. Anytime with Lauren always has that effect. She has this way of grounding me, even when my life feels like a mess.

As we step outside, the warm sun hits my face, and I tilt my head back for a second, soaking it in. The street is alive with people—friends laughing, couples holding hands, music spilling out from a corner café.

Lauren pulls me in for a hug, wrapping me up in her vanilla-and-jasmine scent. “All right, sis,” she says into my ear, her voice low and teasing, “Try to chill tonight, okay? Whether that means knocking on Mr. Playboy’s door or… well, you know, rubbing it out. Do all that shit."

"Lauren!" I groan, burying my face in my hands.

She laughs. “What? I’m just saying! You’re stressed out, and it’s showing. Handle it one way or another before you snap and end up on the news.”

“Goodbye, Lauren,” I say, shaking my head and trying to keep a straight face, but it’s no use. She’s cracking herself up, which, unfortunately, is contagious.

“Seriously, though,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me, “don’t let this dude ruin your vibe. Either tell him to cut it out, or, better yet, stop letting him get to you in the first place.”

I sigh, half-laughing. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”

“Fair enough,” she says, grinning as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. She winks at me as she starts to walk away. “But remember, you deserve peace—whether it’s from yelling at him or, well, you know.”

“Lauren, go !” I call after her, laughing despite myself.

She waves me off, disappearing into the crowd like the confident, slightly annoying big sister she is. As I walk to my car, I can’t help smiling. Maybe she has a point. Maybe I’ve let myself get a little too uptight. The thought nags at me, half-terrifying and half-enticing, as the city hums around me like it’s daring me to loosen up just a little. Thinking of my sister's suggestion, I glance at the passing shops.

Her voice echoes in my head, teasing but honest. “You deserve some peace, sis."

Maybe she’s onto something. Maybe I will swing by the Treasure Box on my way home—just to take the edge off.