Chapter 110

EMILIA

Tessa’s text is, to no one’s surprise, not an apology or even a human-sounding sentence. Just a long, passive-aggressive grocery list—most of which I strongly suspect she typed while glaring at my last message. I’d bet my left eyebrow she deliberately left out chocolate. And the number of vanilla-scented candles? Concerning. That’s her stress tell. Has been since undergrad.

No “please,” no “is this convenient?” Just a bank transfer for half the total and radio silence after that. Classic Tessa.

She’s testing me. I know she is. I do three breathing exercises in the space of a block and whisper an incantation for patience I found on Pinterest. Then I duck into the nearest convenience store, grab her list (plus a bar of chocolate for myself, I’m not a saint), and head out again, arms full and temper running thin.

By the time I reach her building, I’m freezing, annoyed, and 90% sure I’ll be ghosting her the next time she asks for a favor. I forgot the scar