Chapter 1

At the holiday dinner, I followed the directions Winifred Cooley sent me, the way I always did,

only to end up at the public restroom behind the restaurant.

Before I could even ask, her message came through.

"I'm your superior. It looks bad if we walk in together. Wait in the restroom for ten minutes, and come out when I signal you."

By the time I finally found the private room,

Conrad Cobb was already sitting beside Winifred.

Out of habit, I ladled her a bowl of chicken soup.

Winifred glanced at it, then waved her hand for someone to dump the whole thing, bowl and all.

The coworker next to me smirked.

"Can't even suck up right. Don't you know Ms. Cooley's a germophobe?"

The next moment, Conrad set a peeled crab leg into Winifred's bowl.

She ate it without even looking.

Then, under the table, she texted me again.

"Conrad has mild depression. Don't hold things against a sick person."

I watched the two of them trade food back and forth,

while the coworker group chat lost its mind, flooding the screen with strings of "99" for half an hour.

After dinner, she ordered afternoon coffee for everyone.

The iced americano from the place Conrad always drank from.

Three hours into the meal, Winifred met my eyes for the first time.

"Go downstairs and pick up the coffee."

Six years of a hidden relationship, and for the first time I realized,

some things should end.

...

I stayed seated.

"My hands hurt. I can't carry things. You know that, don't you?"

Winifred clearly hadn't expected that answer.

She froze for a second.

A coworker beside me clicked her tongue.

"There he goes again, cozying up to Ms. Cooley. Who'd know his hands hurt? A grown man, and this fake and clingy!"

"Right. That coffee's for Conrad, we're all just riding his coattails, and this clown's over here putting on a whole show."

The mood in the room turned strange,

and Conrad stood up and said he'd go himself,

which finally got a few people scrambling to head downstairs,

throwing me a glare on their way out.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

I didn't look, but I knew it was Winifred.

Probably scolding me for being petty, or maybe something else.

But she was barely two feet from me,

and to avoid suspicion, she wouldn't even glance my way.

She'd probably forgotten my hands got hurt making a cake for her.

That Saturday she did something she rarely did — she said she wanted a cake,

and I scalded both hands red to finish it, brought it to the office, and even had to pass it off as delivery.

Then she turned around, and the cake went into Conrad's stomach.

Through the blinds, I saw Conrad smile at her.

"Thank you, Ms. Cooley. The cake from this place really is good. Shame you never tell me where you buy it."

"I'll buy more if you want it," Winifred said.

That was when I understood. No wonder Winifred, who never cared for sweets, kept asking me to make desserts.

Only because someone else liked them.

A hand set an iced americano in front of me.

I followed the hand up. It was Winifred.

Signals like this, quiet little ones, used to make me feel sweet inside.

But for some reason,

all I could taste in my mouth now was bitterness.

Winifred stuck a straw into a fresh cup and handed it to Conrad.

The words came out almost before she could stop them.

"Your stomach's bad. Don't finish this cold one."

It set a few coworkers off, hands over their mouths, squealing.

Conrad blushed under the teasing and stepped back,

knocking over the half-finished bowl of soup.

The soup spilled all over my shirt, soaking a huge patch.

"Oh, Blake Weston, I'm so sorry! Did it burn you?"

Conrad's eyes went red with fright.

But Winifred caught his wrist.

"Stop worrying about other people. What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?"

I stood up without a word and walked to the restroom.

Halfway through cleaning my shirt, the grease stain wouldn't come out no matter what.

Behind me, a coworker I got along with came over and called to me.

"How are you getting home later? Is your girlfriend coming to pick you up?"

Right then my phone screen lit up.

From Winifred.

"Walk to the bus stop about half a mile down the road later. I'll come get you after I drop Conrad off."

I swiped the message away and turned around with a smile.

"I broke up. I'll grab a cab home myself."