Page 285 of A Taste of Vanilla

I breathe in. “He wants me to look like I’m reacting emotionally.”

A grin slowly spreads across Marley’s face.

“So we don’t. Tomorrow we post a clean follow-up. Thankcustomers. Restate that readers can review documentation themselves. No name-calling. No spiral.”

Oliver looks disappointed. “No name-calling?”

“None.”

Warren’s gaze stays on me. There’s something in them that I can’t look at too long.

Pride. Maybe love, if I’m lucky.

He says, quietly enough that only I can hear, “Good choice.”

I glance at him. “That almost sounds like approval.”

“It was.”

“Dangerous.”

“You earned it.”

My chest warms.

He looks away first.

I think I’m still learning what to do with loving him.

At nine, the final map-cookie pickup window opens. The last boxes go fast. One woman cries because her late husband used to make fantasy maps for their kids, and she bought the boxes as a reminder of him.

I cry with her.

At eleven, when the bar closes, we start shutting everything down.

“I’m never doing this again,” Oliver grumbles.

We show him the bar tab totals.

“We’ll discuss quarterly opportunities,” he corrects.

An hour later, we lock up.

Priya’s article is already posted.

Disclosure Questions Surround Whitaker Review as Bitter Bloom Relaunch Draws Crowd.

It’s not a takedown. Just a question. A very public one.

Sometimes that’s enough to crack the whole thing open.

My feet hurt. My back hurts. My face hurts from smiling. My body hurts from moving all day. And yet, underneath it all, I feel something I haven’t felt for weeks.

Solid.

Not because everyone believes me or because Barrett is ruined. He’s not. Men like that rarely fall dramatically. They get questioned, they lose some shine, and they become less untouchable. And that’s enough for tonight.

I told the truth; people came, and the world did not end.