Daphne
The morning hits her like a freight train.
She blinks into her bedroom, flashes from the night before landing in disjointed bursts—laughter too loud, shots she didn’t need, a neon blur that felt like ecstasy.
The flower shop is already buzzing by the time she stumbles in, an hour late. Her boss doesn’t say much. Just a slow shake of the head.
“Don’t bother clocking in. We’re done,” he says.
Daphne manages a shrug. A smirk. Like it’s nothing. Like she doesn’t need the paycheck, which she doesn’t. But it still stings as she pushes back into the blinding sunlight. Another job gone. Another mess she won’t clean up. Her fingers hover over her phone. Half a heartbeat from texting Casey. She doesn’t. Not this time.
Instead, she ends up at Icons. Midday, the place is hollow—cool concrete, polished wood, sunlight slanting across the bar.
Shane doesn’t ask why she’s there. That’s what he’s always been good for. He never asks too much. He just lets her be. Kind to a fault. Perfectly naïve.
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“They couldn’t afford to pay an extra person,” she lies. “I didn’t think it was possible to get laid off from a part-time minimum-wage gig, but I guess the flower business is struggling like everyone else.”
Shane pauses, thinking. “My hostess just bailed. Landed some Hulu gig. I need someone ASAP. Still part-time, but it’s yours if you want it.”
She stares at him, surprised he’s serious. “You’re really offering me a job?”
Shane shrugs, like it’s obvious. “Isn’t that what you do for a friend in a bind?”
“Right, but like… you know I don’t need a job, Shane. I just need something to do.”
“You need something to keep you grounded. I need someone who won’t flake in two weeks. Call it mutual desperation.”
He hears himself, then hesitates.
“You won’t flake on me… right?”
“Babes, I only flake on second-tier friends. Not you.” She flashes him a playful wink. “But seriously, I’ve got zero experience. Like, none.”
Shane waves it off. “It’s not complicated. And with your Rolodex? You’ll bring in business.”
“I don’t even know what a Rolodex is, Shane.”
“The contacts in your phone, Daphne.”
“Well, duh. And yeah. I can bring people in. The ones who still return my calls, at least.”
“Just promise me you’ll commit to this,” he says, fixing her with a look. “Don’t leave me high and dry.”
She holds up her pinky. “Pinky swear. You can count on me, boss.”
“Great,” he says, eyes sharpening just a spark. “Can you start tonight?”