Morning arrived with the sound of voices downstairs.
Brinley lay still for a moment, orienting herself, not just to the day, but to the feeling she'd fallen asleep with. Steady. Not resolved. Not hopeful in the way that made her reckless. Just… anchored.
Her parents had been early risers her whole life. Some habits didn't change, even when the circumstances did.
She dressed and headed down, pausing at the bottom of the stairs when she heard her father's voice.
"Fast Track seems like a good fit," he was saying. "People know her there."
"That's what worries me," her mother replied lightly. "Being known can get complicated."
Brinley stepped into the kitchen before either of them could lower their voices.
"Good morning," she said.
Both parents turned, their expressions neutral but attentive, always watching the spaces between things, not just the things themselves.
Her mom slid a mug across the counter. "Coffee. We're heading into town later. Brandon wants us to look at the venue again."
Of course he did.
Brandon's wedding had become the background hum of everything lately. Joyful. Stressful. Permanent. A reminder that other people were moving forward while Brinley had learned how to stand still without collapsing.
At Fast Track, the attention started before she was ready for it.
A local singer-songwriter she barely knew lingered too long at the counter, asking about lesson availability that didn't exist. A regular complimented her hair, too personal, but not offensive. Nitika raised an eyebrow once, clocking it without commentary.
Brinley handled it all with practiced ease. Polite. Brief. Professional.
Jaxson noticed every second of it.
He was in the back adjusting an amp, jaw tight, shoulders relaxed only because he forced them to be. The jealousy hit fast and sharp, unwelcome, irrational, entirely human.
He didn't like the way people looked at her like they were discovering something.
Didn't like how easily it could happen.
What he did with that feeling mattered more than the feeling itself.
So he stayed where he was.
He didn't insert himself. Didn't hover. Didn't claim space that wasn't offered.
When the singer finally left, Brinley caught Jaxson's reflection in the glass of the display case. Their eyes met for half a second, long enough for her to see the restraint there.
She looked away first.
Around noon, Brandon burst in like a storm system.
"Okay," he said, dropping into a chair. "Hypothetically, if the best man refuses to wear the tie color because it 'washes him out,' is that a friendship-ending offense?"
Jaxson didn't look up. "Depends. Is the tie ugly?"
"Yes."
"Then no."
Brinley laughed despite herself.
Brandon exhaled. "Thank you. Finally, someone rational."
He looked at Brinley then, studying her a little too closely. "You coming to the tasting tomorrow? Mom really wants your opinion."
"I'll try," she said honestly.
Her parents arrived later that afternoon, stepping into the shop like they were walking onto neutral ground. Polite smiles. Quiet assessments.
Jaxson felt their presence immediately.
Her father shook his hand firmly. Her mother's gaze lingered just a beat longer than necessary, not unkind, but thorough.
They didn't ask questions.
That almost made it worse.
Brinley moved through the space with a calm she didn't have weeks ago, introducing them to coworkers, explaining her role, showing where she fit. Jaxson watched her from a distance, the jealousy morphing into something heavier.
Pride, maybe.
Fear, definitely.
She belonged here. She was building something again. And it had nothing to do with him.
Near closing, a customer asked Brinley out,awkward, respectful, and immediately declined.
Jaxson's hands stilled on the counter.
He waited.
She handled it cleanly. Kindly. Without looking to anyone else for backup.
After they left, her mother touched Brinley's arm. "You're doing well," she said softly. Not about the job. About the boundary.
Jaxson caught that, too.
Outside, dusk settled in slow layers. Brandon walked their parents to the car, already talking seating charts again.
Brinley and Jaxson stood a few feet apart on the sidewalk.
"I didn't like that," he said quietly. Honest. Controlled.
"I know," she replied. Not defensive. Not apologetic.
"I'm not asking you to do anything differently."
"I know," she said again.
That was the thing.
They were finally speaking the same language.
He nodded once. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She hesitated, then added, "Drive safe."
As he walked away, the jealousy eased, not gone, but quieter. Kept in check by something stronger than possession.
Respect.
Brinley watched him leave, aware of her parents watching too, from a distance that felt intentional.
She didn't feel chosen.
She felt trusted.
And for now, that was enough to keep the lines holding, without pulling them tight.