Page 32 of Faking the Heat

I lean back in the too-small chair and give her my most serious expression. “Absolutely. Feldman’s going to make me do the supply inventory for a month.” I pause just long enough and wink. “Totally worth it.”

She blinks. “Sterling…”

“Also,” I add, “I’m pretty sure I’m owed at least one more fake kiss as hazard pay. Union rules.”

The color that hits her cheeks is immediate and spectacular. She opens her mouth, closes it, then points the stylus at me like a warning she has no intention of following through on. She stands, drops it in her bag, and smooths down her shirt with the focused energy of someone who needs something to do with their hands.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she says, very precisely. “Do not be like this when I get back.”

I raise the cold brew. “No promises.”

I watch her walk away, catch the moment she hesitates by the door, then disappears down the hall. My chest is tight, like I’ve just run a sprint instead of survived a coffee date.

The second Mandy’s silhouette vanishes down the bathroom corridor, Kayla swoops in taking the seat across from me. She sets her mug on the table, leans in, and dials up the intensity in her stare by about a thousand percent. The air between us prickles, as if she’s about to use my soul for target practice.

She leans over the table, and speaks in a voice only I can hear. “You’re a terrible liar, Sterling.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was lying.”

She sits, leans back, folds her arms. “Let’s be so for real right now,” she says. “She likes you.”

I don’t flinch. It would only encourage her. “She likes a lot of people,” I counter, hoping the deadpan will redirect the trajectory.

Kayla ignores it, waving one sharp-nailed hand in a gesture that manages to insult the very concept of denial. “She likes you,” she repeats. “Not as a convenience, not as a security blanket, and not as a plus-one to piss off the ex. She likes you because you are the only person in her life who doesn’t try to re-paint her, you just show up. Consistently.”

I glance at the ceiling, searching for divine intervention. All I see are pipes and ductwork, the exposed wiring that gives this place its “industrial chic.” I’m suddenly aware of how little armor I have in this moment. Out on calls, I can suit up in Nomex and bunker gear, go blind and dumb to all but the problem at hand. Here, I am just a guy in a t-shirt, watching a woman half my size dissect me with her eyes.

“She’s also not going to make the first move,” Kayla continues, each word clipped and deliberate. “Because she’s terrified if she wants anything too much, the universe will drop it off a bridge.”

I flex my hands on the tabletop, feeling the skin tighten over my knuckles. “It’s not that simple.”

Kayla grins, all teeth, the way predators do in nature documentaries right before the slow-motion footage kicks in. “You’re right. It’s worse. Derek didn’t just kill her faith in romance, he burned her faith in herself to the fucking studs.” Her voice is quiet enough to keep the old ladies by the front window from perking up, but I can hear the anger in it, the undertow of protectiveness.

“She told you that?” I ask, keeping my own voice low, trying to sound casual.

“She didn’t have to.” Kayla sips her tea, then sets it down so hard the liquid sloshes. “After he cheated, he convinced her it was her fault for not being ambitious enough, not being sophisticated enough, not being… whatever. He took her biggest strength, her work, her personality, and made her feel like she was a liability. Now she second-guesses everything. She’s got this insane offer from a studio in New York and she’s been ghosting their emails for a month. She’d rather freelance logos for shitty start-ups than risk failing at the one thing she’s been dreaming about.”

A weight drops in my chest. I remember the day Mandy told me about the email, laughing like it was a joke.

“She’s scared, Sterling.” Kayla’s voice softens. “And you’re the only person she lets see it. I know you think you’re just helping, but you’re not neutral in this story. Not by a long shot.”

I stare at my hands. I want to protest, to say I’m just giving her a place to crash, just being a friend, but it’s a lie. I know it. Kayla knows it. The air between us crackles with all the unsaid things I’ve spent months pretending didn’t matter.

Before I can get a word out, there’s a slight shift in the light behind me, a shadow crossing the wall. Kayla’s gaze slides past my shoulder, sharp as a blade. I turn, and there’s Mandy, halfway back to the table, her eyes wide and blank for one unguarded heartbeat before the sun reflects on her giant star earrings making me squint and look away.

“Did I miss anything?” Her voice is light, but her knuckles are white.

Kayla is already back in cool-barista mode, pouring me a coffee I didn’t ask for. “Just giving Sterling the house rules. No drama, no pets on the counter, no secrets.” She slides the mug in front of me, then looks between us. Almost like she’s giving us both a benediction and an ultimatum before she walks away.

Mandy’s eyes flick to mine. For once, I hold her gaze and don’t let go. I want to say something, anything, to make it easier. But I remember what Kayla said: that Mandy trusts me because I show up. Not because I fix, not because I rescue, but because I stay.

“Six years later and still dangerous,” I say, keeping my voice low.

She looks up, confused. “What?”

I reach up and flick the giant glittering stars she's wearing, they throw off sparks every time she moves her head. “The earrings.”

Her face shifts, something softening in her expression. “You remember that?”