Brittany's POV

"I still can’t wrap my head around everything that just went down," Maris says as we step through the diner’s back door into the cool evening air.

Her expression is a mix of disbelief and lingering nerves. I can’t fault her for it. Moments ago, we both assumed Maris was about to get canned. I already had a whole tirade brewing in my head, ready to quit on the spot if Jorah went through with firing her. There’s no way he’d keep Aisby over us—he might find another girl willing to play his little games, but this place wouldn’t survive without Maris and me.

Jorah barely got the chance to lay into Maris before the biker intervened. Intimidating doesn’t even begin to describe him, and his presence shut Jorah up in record time. Aisby tried to flip the narrative, crying victim like we all knew she would, but the biker wasn’t buying any of it. He laid it out plain and simple: if Jorah kept Aisby or fired Maris, the Hellbound Legion MC would make this diner’s life hell.

What really took the cake, though, was Aisby’s meltdown when Jorah told her to leave. It was comedy gold, watching her stomp and shout until the biker physically escorted her outside to calm her down. Maris didn’t look too happy about that, though she didn’t say a word.

Once he returned, the biker stayed with his group and made a point of requesting Maris as their server. She was back beside me as soon as his party left, practically vibrating with excitement. Apparently, he asked for her number and mentioned wanting to take her out.

"Do you think he’ll actually follow through with getting tested tomorrow?" Maris asks, her arm brushing mine as we stroll down the dimly lit street.

The evening feels perfect—just crisp enough that it’s pleasant without being uncomfortable. The clear skies and scattered stars remind me of nights I spent on my roof as a kid. Kaelith was like a walking star chart back then; even at eleven, he knew every constellation like the back of his hand.

"I think he will," I say.

Maris hesitates, nervous energy flickering in her tone as she presses on. "Seriously? You don’t think... this is a little... dumb?"

"Dumb?" I echo, raising an eyebrow.

She chews her lip before continuing. "Well, for one, he just caught his girlfriend cheating on him—and we’re talking about Aisby, the person we despise for very valid reasons. Wouldn’t it be insane if I actually considered dating him after all that?"

I shrug, keeping pace with her. "I don’t think it’s crazy, if that’s what you’re asking. Life’s messy. Sure, the context is wild, but if what happened felt genuine to you, maybe it’s worth exploring. He clearly thought Aisby was someone she isn’t... maybe because he was seeing her as you."

Maris looks down at her feet as she walks. "It’s still stressful to think about," she admits softly.

"Then take it slow," I suggest. "Getting involved with someone tied to an MC can be a lot more than you’d expect, too. Some of them live lives that aren’t exactly kind to women. I don’t know much about this guy, but if you’re considering this, tread carefully."

Her silence makes me glance at her. When she finally speaks, there’s curiosity in her tone. "You talk like you’ve been through this before."

The remark catches me off guard, but I try to keep my reaction neutral with a half-hearted shrug. Her next question, however, freezes me in place.

"Is that what you’re running from?" she asks, looking back after taking a few steps ahead. Her hands are tucked into her jacket, her small smile soft but perceptive. She’s waiting, but not pressing.

My throat tightens as I search for an answer. Before I can speak, Maris cuts in again, her voice gentle. "You don’t have to say anything. Forget I asked."

"I..." I start, but the words fail me.

"Seriously, it’s fine," she insists, looping her arm in mine with a bright smile to steer me forward. "Let’s just go get those drinks, okay?"

Her chatter fills the walk to the bar, covering the twenty long minutes that stretch after a hellish shift at work. Her relentless small talk is a welcome buffer; it gives me space to zone out without any awkward silences.

By the time we arrive, the bar is teeming with people. It’s one of those tiny places with just enough chaos to feel lively but not overwhelming. When we find space at the bar, we shrug off our jackets and settle in.

"I still can’t believe I convinced you to come out with me," Maris teases.

"Guess I can’t deny I’m a bit of a hermit," I reply, flashing a brief, wry smile.

A couple of drinks in, I finally start to relax. Loosening up feels foreign, but as the buzz sets in, I let it pull me away from my thoughts. Leaning back in my seat, I tug the elastic from my hair, letting the thick waves tumble loose over my shoulders and down past my waist.

Maris’s gasp is immediate, her eyes wide with shock. "Holy shit! How did I not know you had all that?"

Her reaction gets a half-smile out of me, though I merely shrug. Maris, on the other hand, isn’t ready to drop it, showering me with compliments that only remind me of all the reasons I’ve kept it buried under messy buns.

I’ve thought about cutting it countless times, but internal debates always hold me back. One voice pleads with me to keep it, to cherish what’s been called beautiful. The other voice urges practicality, insisting shorter hair would be more manageable and trendy. The lack of resolution leaves me stuck in limbo.

Another exaggerated noise from Maris pulls me back to the present. She’s staring at her phone like it’s going to burst into flames, her grin stretching ear to ear.

"Look! He already texted me!" she squeals, thrusting the screen in front of me like it’s the Holy Grail.

I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I’m happy for you," I say sincerely. "I hope he’s everything you’re looking for."

And I mean every word.