Beverly sat amidst the soft symphony of the bustling coffee shop, the world around her a blur of murmured conversations, hissing steam from the espresso machine, and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs. The warm aroma of roasted coffee beans enveloped her, but it did little to calm the storm within. Samantha Sturtz, her publisher and confidant, sat across the small wooden table, a beacon of expectation and curiosity.

Beverly’s fingers danced nervously around her ceramic cup, tracing the edge as though it might reveal some hidden answer. Months had passed since she had last added to the manuscript, and the weight of that silence loomed between them, an unspoken tension carried in the air.

“So,” Samantha began, cutting through the ambient noise with her crisp yet warm voice. Her piercing eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, as though she were savoring a delicious secret. “I read the chapters you sent me last night.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her gaze unwavering. “Beverly, this is incredible stuff. The depth of emotion, the vivid imagery… it’s like nothing I’ve seen from you before. What’s your secret?”

Beverly’s cheeks flushed with a heat that spread like wildfire. She ducked her head, trying to disguise her embarrassment in the steam rising from her coffee. Her muses—Angele and Joanna—swirled at the edges of her thoughts. Their laughter, their kindness, the way they made her feel alive again… it was all tangled up in the pages Samantha had praised. But saying it out loud? That felt impossible.

“I… I guess I’ve just been feeling really inspired lately,” she murmured, her voice trembling like the leaf of a sapling in a storm. She toyed with the hem of her sleeve, her gaze flickering to the swirling latte art in her cup. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with my new neighbors, Angele and Joanna. They’ve really helped me break through my writer’s block.”

Samantha’s eyebrow arched slightly, her expression curious but kind. “Angele and Joanna, huh? The way you write about the connection between these characters… it’s so intimate, so charged. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had feelings for them.”

Beverly’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse drumming in her ears. She tried to laugh, but it came out thin, almost brittle. “That’s… that’s not…” Her words faltered, crumbling under the weight of the truth she had buried.

Samantha’s hand reached across the table, warm and steady, anchoring Beverly in the moment. Her voice softened, coaxing rather than pressing. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But as your friend, not just your publisher, I want you to know there’s no judgment here. The heart wants what it wants, you know?”

Beverly felt her defenses crumbling, the walls she’d carefully constructed beginning to yield. Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden but unstoppable, and her voice cracked under their weight. “I… I think I’m falling for them, Sam. Both of them. But I’m scared. I’ve never felt this way about women before, and I don’t know if they feel the same way. What if I’m wrong? What if I ruin everything?”

Samantha’s gaze was steady, her tone firm but compassionate. “From what you’ve told me about Angele and Joanna, it sounds like they care about you a great deal. And the way you write about them… it’s clear that your connection is something special. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you owe it to yourself to be honest about your feelings. Even if it’s scary, even if it’s unfamiliar. You deserve to be happy, Beverly.”

Beverly let out a shaky exhale, Samantha’s words like a hand pulling her from the depths. She nodded, the beginnings of a fragile smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Sam. I… I’ll think about it.”

As Beverly left the coffee shop, the cool evening air kissed her cheeks, grounding her in the present. Her thoughts churned, a blend of fear and tentative hope swirling like autumn leaves in the wind.

Not. The. End.