I can't finish. The image of Vince's face after Sam leaves, the confusion and hurt in his eyes, is still too raw.
"Gary," I finally manage, looking up at him. "It was a disaster. The absolute worst moment of my life."
Gary's playful demeanor evaporates, his expression softening into something that looks remarkably like sympathy. "I'm sosorry," he says finally, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he reaches across the table again, his fingers curling around mine in a gesture of genuine comfort. "That sounds... incredibly humiliating. Andy, everything will be okay."
The warmth of his hand is a stark contrast to the cold dread still coiling in my stomach. I give a small, grateful nod, but my voice comes out ragged when I finally speak. "Thanks, Gary."
Then, just as quickly as the sympathy appeared, it vanishes, replaced by the mischievous glint I've come to expect from him. "This," he declares, leaning back in his chair with a theatrical flourish, "is better than anything on Bravo right now." He clutches his chest like he's just watched a dramatic season finale, his eyes wide with feigned shock. "I mean, Ted outing you at dinner? Vince defending you? Sam walking out? This is premium drama, Andy. Premium!"
"What's Bravo?" I ask, completely lost.
Gary nearly drops his cup, his coffee sloshing perilously close to the rim. "Are you serious? It's a TV channel. Reality shows. Housewives of Beverly Hills? Vanderpump Rules? Any of this ringing a bell?"
"Oh. I don't really watch TV," I admit, feeling a bit out of touch. "I'm more of a book person."
"Don't worry about it," Gary says, waving a dismissive hand. "Just know I'll be collecting your queer card after this coffee. You can't be gay in LA and not know Bravo. It's practically in the bylaws."
I sigh, swirling what's left in my cup, the dark liquid creating a small whirlpool in the white ceramic. "Anyway, I need your help. I'm going to get Vince back together with Sam."
The words hang in the air for a moment before Gary's reaction hits.
He spits coffee back into his cup, coughing violently as some of the hot liquid escapes and splatters across the table. Awaitress rushes over with a stack of napkins as the nearest tables turn to stare, their curious eyes briefly drawn to our corner before returning to their own conversations.
"That's disgusting, Gary," I mutter, trying not to laugh as I watch him wipe his beard, which is now dripping with coffee.
"Did you really just say that to me?" he asks once he can breathe properly again, his voice hoarse. "Are you joking? Andy, have you lost your mind? After everything that happened, you want to play matchmaker?"
I push my empty cup away, the ceramic scraping against the table. "He's devastated, Gary. I can see it in his eyes every time I look at him. I ruined something good for him, something real."
Gary leans forward, his coffee forgotten. "Andy, maybe he feels the same way about you. Did you ever think of that? Maybe he's just letting things cool down."
I shake my head, the motion slow and deliberate. "No. He chased after her, Gary. Not me. If he felt anything, anything at all, he would have stayed. Or at least... I don't know. Admitted to me he had feelings too, when he had the chance. Something would have been different." I wrap my arms around myself, a sudden chill prickling my skin despite the warmth of the coffee shop. "He doesn't feel the same way. I know he doesn't."
Gary studies me, his usual playful expression replaced by something softer, more serious. "You're sure about this plan, then? Getting them back together?"
"I have to try," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "It's the only way to make things right."
Chapter 24
The Distance Between Us
Andrew
Isitatthefront desk of the West Hollywood yoga studio, the hour stretching later than usual, mismatched files scattered before me as the faint scent of lavender incense clings to the air.
Our receptionist has called out sick, leaving the shift unattended, so I've offered to stay after my class. The studio owner practically shoves me into the receptionist chair with a beaming smile, saying I've saved her from a marathon day of juggling the front desk and teaching.
She says she owes me one, but honestly? The extra hours and a simple thank you are plenty.
I'm organizing registration forms when the woman standing in front of the desk catches my eye. She isn't a regular, not someone I recognize from my classes, but she somehow knows my name.
She's tall—towering, really—and her boots add even more height, the heels sharp enough to stab a man's ego. Her shorts and oversized shirt give her a carefree look, but the red lipstick and perfectly styled hair say she isn't here to lounge. Add in the jangling decorations on her messenger bag, and it's like she's stepped straight out of an urban fashion magazine.
"Andy?" she asks.
I wince at the nickname, and she laughs softly.
"Uh, Andrew," I correct. "But yeah. How can I help you?"
