The weekend had been good to me.
After Joe left Saturday night I had slept deeply and without dreams, the kind of sleep that only comes when something in you has quietly settled.
Sunday stretched out slow and unhurried, and I decided to do something I hadn't done in weeks, absolutely nothing productive.
I made coffee. Read three chapters of a novel I had been neglecting.
Sat by the window watching the street below with no particular thoughts. It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a reward.
By early afternoon I was running low on a few things, so I grabbed my bag and headed to the grocery store, the one two blocks down that I had been meaning to switch from for a year but never actually left.
I was squinting at two nearly identical pasta sauces, genuinely unable to decide, when I heard it.
"Is that… you?"
I turned.
And then I screamed a little.
"Sophie!"
She looked exactly the same, same wide smile, same energy that entered a room slightly before she did, except her hair was shorter now and she was holding a basket containing exclusively snacks, which was deeply on brand.
"Oh my God!" She grabbed me into a hug that nearly knocked my pasta sauce out of my hand. "How long has it been?"
"Five years at least," I said, pulling back to look at her properly. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to be on the other side of the country forever."
"Plans change," she said with a theatrical shrug.
"My parents needed help with the business so I came back a few months ago.
I keep meaning to reach out to people but you know how it is " she waved her hand vaguely, "— life."
"Life," I agreed.
We abandoned our shopping entirely and ended up at the small café on the corner, our baskets forgotten by the door, talking the way you only talk with someone who already knows all your context.
Sophie caught me up on everything, the city she had left, the job she had loved then outgrown, the situationship she had escaped with her dignity mostly intact.
"Your turn," she said, pointing at me over her cup. "What's going on with you? And I mean actually going on, not the polished version."
I laughed. "Work is steady. I'm adjusting to a new place.
Things are, good actually. Really good."
Sophie narrowed her eyes. "That pause before 'good' was very suspicious."
"There was no pause."
"Ella."
I rolled my eyes. "There's someone," I said. "His name is Joe. And before you say anything it's still very new and I don't want to make it into a whole thing."
Sophie's face did exactly what I knew it would do, lit up like I had just announced something far more dramatic than what I had actually said.
"Tell me everything," she said, leaning forward on both elbows. "Leave nothing out."
"Sophie—"
"Everything, Ella."
So I told her. Not everything, but enough. The café, the business card, the office surprise visit, Saturday night. Sophie listened with the focused attention of someone watching their favorite show, occasionally gasping at appropriate moments.
"He came to your office?" she said.
"He was in the area."
"He was not in the area, Ella. Men do not show up at offices because they are in the area." She pointed at me. "He likes you."
"I know he likes me," I said. "That's not the part I'm unsure about."
She tilted her head, softening slightly. "What part are you unsure about?"
I turned my cup in my hands. "I just don't want to move too fast and then" I shrugged. "You know."
Sophie reached across and squeezed my hand.
"Not every story ends the same way," she said quietly.
I nodded. Said nothing. She didn't push.
That was the thing about Sophie, she always knew when to talk and when to just sit with you in something.
We stayed until the café started filling up with the evening crowd, then parted ways on the pavement outside with a hug that lasted longer than most and a genuine promise to not let five years pass again.
I had just gotten home and was putting groceries away, having eventually gone back for them, when my phone rang.
Prince.
I smiled before I even answered.
"Before you say anything," he said, skipping hello entirely, "I already know you haven't eaten properly today."
"I just bought groceries," I said.
"That's not what I asked."
I put him on speaker and kept unpacking.
Prince had been like this since we worked together at my old job, showing up in my business without invitation, somehow always knowing when something was off, equal parts annoying and irreplaceable.
He had the instincts of an older brother and absolutely none of the restraint.
"I'm fine Prince," I said. "I had a good weekend actually."
A pause. "Good how?"
"Just good. Peaceful. I saw Sophie, remember I told you about her?"
"College Sophie? She's back?"
"Apparently."
"Hm." Another pause. I could hear him thinking. "And what else?"
I kept my voice very casual. "Nothing else."
"Ella."
"Prince."
Silence.
"There's a guy," he said. Not a question.
I closed the fridge. "Why do you always do that?"
"Because I know you." His voice shifted, still warm but with that particular quality it got when he was paying close attention.
"Who is he?"
"His name is Joe. He's, we're just getting to know each other. It's nothing serious yet."
"Yet," Prince repeated.
"Don't make it weird."
"I'm not making it weird. I just want to know who this person is." A beat.
"Is he good to you?"
And there it was, that question, simple and direct, that was so entirely Prince.
Not what does he do or how did you meet. Just: "is he good to you."
"Yes," I said quietly. "He is."
Another pause. Then, softer: "Okay."
"Okay?" I raised an eyebrow even though he couldn't see it. "That's it?"
"That's it," he said. "For now." I could hear the smile in his voice.
"But I want to meet him eventually."
"Prince—"
"Eventually, I said. I'm not going to interrogate the man on day one."
A pause. "Probably."
I laughed, the real kind, the kind that catches you off guard. "Goodbye Prince."
"Eat something," he said. "Actual food."
"Goodbye."
"I mean it—"
I hung up, still smiling, and stood in my quiet kitchen for a moment.
Sophie back in my life. Prince exactly where he had always been.
Joe somewhere in the city thinking thoughts I couldn't read yet.
I looked around my small kitchen, the groceries put away, the evening settling in soft and unhurried outside the window, and felt something I could only describe as full.
Not perfect. Not certain.
Just full.
I put the kettle on, found my book, and let the evening do the rest.