Friday arrived with the promise of something good.
Curtis could feel it the moment he woke up. Contracts closed. Market steady. Work efficient. His routine — upgraded. For once, life felt balanced, maybe even enjoyable.
He'd found himself smiling more. Greeting people. Texting Allie, sometimes under the excuse of "progress updates."
And she replied — bright, teasing, always at some ungodly hour of the night. His "life coach," as she called herself, had somehow become the pulse of his day.
He didn't even realize how much he'd changed until others started pointing it out.
At the office, colleagues whispered like he'd joined a cult. "Did Curtis just say good morning?" "Did he… smile?"
He greeted the security guard by name. Nodded to strangers in the lobby. Even responded — actually responded — when coworkers started small talk.
People didn't know what to make of it.
Even Nadine had noticed. Though their schedules rarely aligned, the few times they did, she'd glanced up from her papers as if double-checking she wasn't hallucinating. He wanted to laugh.
The irony — that he'd started all this change because of her — yet somehow she'd become an afterthought.
That evening, he met Jonah for dinner at a steakhouse, a rare Friday tradition.
"Dude, you're a whole different species," Jonah said, cutting into his ribeye.
Curtis blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You're like… if someone took Ozempic for personalities."
Curtis frowned. "What?"
"Bro, you literally say 'how you doin?' to every person we pass. You're smiling, you're joking — I thought I lost you to some kind of cult!"
Curtis laughed, genuinely laughed.
"Guess I've been… learning."
Jonah smirked. "Whatever she's doing to you — keep it going. It's magic. You seeing her this weekend?"
"She's busy," Curtis said, trying to sound casual. "Work."
Jonah shrugged, pouring wine. "My folks are hosting a BBQ tomorrow. Come by. Bet your parents are going."
"Already saw them this week," Curtis replied quickly. "Think I'll just—do some work."
The lie was harmless. But the truth was simpler: he hoped Allie would text first.
After dinner, they ended up at his apartment, gaming side by side. Jonah was shouting into his headset; Curtis barely noticed. His eyes flicked to his phone between rounds. Nothing.
When Jonah left, the apartment was too quiet.He stared at the empty screen for a minute longer, then set it down with a sigh.
Across town, Allie had just finished showering. She slid into bed beside her mom, curling up close, wrapping her arms around her like she'd done since she was a kid.
"You okay?" her mom asked softly, still watching TV.
"Yeah, mah," Allie whispered, her voice full of warmth.
The house smelled faintly of eucalyptus and clean laundry. Down the hall, the muffled sound of Raffi's music mixed with the hum of the heater.
Moments like this were rare — quiet, simple, perfect.
Raffi peeked into the room and grinned. "Unfair! You're hogging mom again." Then she dove onto the bed, tangling them all in laughter and blankets.
For a while, everything else — bills, exhaustion, deadlines — disappeared.
The next morning, Curtis woke early out of habit, made his bed, brewed coffee, and stared at his spotless apartment. The silence echoed.
He worked out. Showered. Checked the news. Checked his crypto portfolio. Nothing hit right.
He watered his plants — too early for that. He sat on the couch — too restless for that.
Every minute stretched. Every thought circled back to the same one: Coppa.
Maybe she'd be there.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he changed into a casual sweater, grabbed his keys, and stepped into the cold. The café buzzed like a hive — students, freelancers, couples, everyone talking over jazz and clinking cups. Allie was behind the counter, hair pulled up, apron dusted with coffee grounds, moving like a storm of energy and grace.
He spotted her instantly. She looked up — and smiled. A quick one, but enough to melt the winter air.
He didn't order right away, choosing instead to wait until the rush eased. But before long, he noticed something was wrong.
Allie and Zack were in a mild panic. Zack rubbed his temple while Allie pointed at her phone, her face serious.
Curtis hesitated, then crossed the floor. "Hey. Everything okay?"
Allie blinked, startled. "Oh—uh—hi. Yeah, we're just—kind of short-staffed. Big catering order, bad timing."
Zack groaned. "It's a nightmare, dude. One of us needs to deliver it, but if we both leave, the café's dead. If I stay, it's chaos. If I go—"
"I'll go," Curtis said.
Zack paused, then snapped his fingers. "Better idea. I'll deliver. You stay and help Allie here. You two can handle this place, right?"
Allie opened her mouth to protest. "He doesn't have to—"
But Curtis was already nodding. "I've got this."
Zack grinned. "Perfect. I'm leaving you in good hands, Allie!" The next hour was a blur. Orders. Steam. Laughter. Movement. They worked side by side as if they'd done it forever.
Curtis took the register, repeating drink names carefully, learning fast. Allie darted between machines, whipping shots and milk with practiced ease. They fell into rhythm — him calling, her answering — two parts of the same pulse.
When the pace finally slowed, she turned to check on him, amused by how serious he looked pouring cappuccino foam. She didn't see the hot steam wand behind her until her hand brushed it."Ow!"
She yelped, jerking back.
Curtis dropped the pitcher instantly. "What happened?"
"Nothing—just—"
But he was already at the sink, guiding her hand under the running water.
"Does it hurt?" His voice was sharp with concern.
Allie blinked, stunned. "You're overreacting," she said gently. "I'm fine. See? No burn."
"Still," he muttered, not letting go until he was sure. "Slow down. I'm here to help. You don't have to do everything alone."
Something twisted in her chest — unfamiliar and dangerous. She pulled her hand away and forced a smile.
"Guess I'm just used to it."
He didn't push.But his eyes lingered, soft and protective, as she went back to work.
By noon, the rush had died down. Zack returned, breathless but triumphant. The owner arrived to take over.
Allie untying her apron turned to Curtis.
"Hey," she said, still catching her breath, "thank you for today. Seriously. You saved us."
He smiled. "Glad to be of service."
"Then let me buy you lunch," she said impulsively. "My treat."
"Deal."
They ended up at a tiny dim sum place a few blocks away, seated by the window. Steam baskets between them, Allie talked with her hands again, laughing at how clumsy he was with chopsticks.
Afterward, they grabbed milk tea and walked the city. The sun had finally burned through the clouds, the streets humming with the weekend crowd.
They stopped in front of an old arcade — faded lights, vintage posters.
"Ever been in one of these?" Allie asked.
Curtis shook his head. "Not since… middle school."
"Then we're fixing that. Come on."
Inside, the place smelled like popcorn and nostalgia. The flickering machines painted their faces in red and blue glow.
Allie picked Street Fighter. "I'm a pro," she teased. "You're going down."
"You talk a big game."
They played for nearly an hour, loud and competitive, laughing through every round. The final match ended with Allie's triumphant shout and his half-smile of surrender.
"Loser does whatever the winner says," she reminded him.
He braced himself. "Okay. What's my punishment?" She didn't answer until they stopped in front of a nail salon.
Curtis froze. "You're kidding."
Her grin was wicked. "Nope. You lost, Kit."
Before he could protest, she tugged his sleeve and pulled him inside.
They sat side by side in pastel chairs while the nail techs giggled. "Cute couple," one said.
"We're not—" they said in unison.
The room laughed. Allie shook her head, cheeks pink. "He's just my friend, Kit."
Curtis relaxed, smiling faintly as warm water swirled around his hands. He caught her reflection in the mirror — hair messy, eyes bright — laughing with strangers like she'd known them forever.
And maybe that was her gift: she made every room feel alive.
By the time they left, both had glossy, perfect nails and aching stomachs from laughing.
Outside, Allie stretched her arms, tilting her face to the late-afternoon sun.
"Today was fun," she said, almost to herself.
Curtis nodded. "Yeah. It was."
They went their separate ways — she walking home with a quiet, foolish smile; he heading back to his apartment with the same one tugging at his lips.
Neither said it aloud, but both knew: Spontaneity had never felt so right.