"Elise."
Naomi's voice came through the phone with that familiar edge. Calm, but tight. Measured, but definitely not casual.
Elise shifted the phone to her other ear and winced. "I know that tone."
"I bet you do," Naomi replied dryly. "You free for brunch tomorrow?"
"That depends. Are you planning an intervention?"
"Let's just call it... a reality check. 11 a.m. My place. Bring coffee."
Naomi's apartment was a second-floor walk-up with cracked tile floors and a balcony that overlooked absolutely nothing useful. Elise had been there enough times to know where the mismatched mugs were, where the cat treats were hidden, and how Naomi always overwatered her succulents.
She arrived right at eleven, holding two paper cups and a fresh bag of donuts.
"I brought peace offerings," Elise announced.
Naomi met her at the door, arms crossed, still in sweats and a messy bun. "I'll accept these under protest."
They sat on the couch, an old velvet thing that had seen too many spilled drinks and therapy sessions. Naomi sipped her coffee, then looked up, deadpan.
"So."
Elise waited.
"So," Naomi continued, "how's Adrian?"
Elise smiled. "He's... good."
Naomi raised one brow. "You sure about that?"
Elise took a long sip before answering. "Yes. I am."
Naomi sighed. "Okay. Walk me through it. Everything. From bookstore to now."
Elise groaned. "You want the whole replay?"
"Verbatim, if possible."
So she did. The bookstore, the umbrella, the first date, the fries, the sculpture park. His voice. His eyes. His story about the ex. His charm.
Naomi listened in silence, except for the occasional brow lift or the narrowing of her eyes.
When Elise finished, Naomi leaned back, her coffee untouched.
"Okay. Time to be the annoying friend."
"God, here we go."
"You know I love you, right?"
"Yes."
"And I support you having nice things?"
"Yes."
"But."
Naomi put her cup down. "You've known him for a week, Elise."
"I know—"
"No. You've known him. For. A. Week."
Elise opened her mouth, then closed it.
"You're already smiling at your phone like a high schooler. You've seen him three times. He told you a sob story about a toxic ex, and now you're what? Planning the playlist for your future wedding?"
Elise exhaled. "It's not like that."
Naomi gave her a look.
Elise folded her arms. "It's not."
Naomi leaned forward, her voice softening. "El, you've done this before. You meet someone. They say all the right things. You start building a version of them in your head. And by the time they show you who they really are, it's too late—you've already fallen for the fantasy."
"That's not fair," Elise muttered.
"It's not mean, it's honest. You're brilliant, but when it comes to guys, you lead with your heart and tie your brain up in the trunk."
Elise looked away.
"I'm not saying Adrian's a bad guy," Naomi continued. "He might be great. But you don't know him. Not really. You know the curated version. The one he showed you on a few pretty dates."
"So what do you want me to do?" Elise asked. "Ghost him?"
"No. Just slow down. Give it time. See what happens when he's not on his best behavior. When there's a bump. A disagreement. A moment when he's not in control."
Elise stayed quiet.
Naomi sighed again. "Look. I know you want this. You deserve this. But sometimes, the rush to feel seen? That's the trap. And you deserve more than another dead end."
Elise stared at her donut, suddenly not hungry.
"I don't want to screw this up," she whispered.
"Then don't," Naomi said, gentler now. "But protect yourself while you figure it out. Not every guy who listens well is safe. And not every man who opens up is honest."
Elise nodded slowly. "I hear you."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Naomi picked up her coffee again. "Good. Because I'm not losing you to another liar in expensive shoes."
Elise managed a smile. "They're boots, actually."
"Oh, excuse me. Boots. So much more trustworthy."
They talked for another hour—about nothing and everything. About Elise's article deadline, Naomi's nightmare client, and how Elise's dad used to make pancakes shaped like murder weapons every Sunday when she was little.
When Elise finally stood to leave, Naomi followed her to the door.
"El," she said, voice lower. "Just... keep your eyes open. For real. You're not crazy for wanting love. But don't fall so hard you forget how to land."
Elise hugged her tightly. "Thank you. For being a buzzkill."
Naomi smirked. "Anytime."
That night, Elise sat on her bed with her laptop balanced on her knees.
She pulled up her working document—the start of her latest true crime article. But instead of typing, she stared at the blinking cursor.
Why do smart women fall for dangerous men?
She didn't know how to answer that. Not yet.
So instead, she opened a new document and titled it:
"Adrian – Notes"
She wrote:
Met him in a bookstore. Immediate connection. Confident, smooth, not pushy.
Shared personal story about a toxic ex—claimed he was painted as the villain.
Very attentive. Protective in a low-key way. Offers just enough truth to feel real.
Still no strong digital presence. Naomi thinks that's odd. I think... I'm not sure what I think.
She stared at the words.
She didn't delete them.
Instead, she added one more line:
Is it possible for something to feel this right and still go wrong?
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian:Thinking about you. Can I call?
She smiled.
Then typed:
Elise:I'm free. Just not ready to fall. Not yet.
Adrian:I'm not asking you to fall. Just to talk.
She hesitated.
Then she sent: Okay.
Moments later, her phone rang. His name lit up the screen.
She answered, heart thudding.
And just like that, she was back in it—voice to voice, moment to moment.
Still listening.
Still hoping.
Still unsure.