Ellie Nova smiled, slow and dangerous. “Good.”

“She says you never fought for her,” Ellie said, studying the amber liquid.

My girlfriend, Jess, had a type: quiet, dependable, and a little boring. That was me, Leo. I was the human equivalent of a weighted blanket. Jess loved that about me—until she didn’t.

“Jess hates a lot of things.” Ellie brushed past me, and the air changed. It smelled like vanilla and something sharper—confidence.

For an hour, we packed Jess’s things in awkward silence. Ellie would hold up a scarf or a book, and I’d nod or shrug. But the real conversation happened in the kitchen, where she poured two glasses.

“If we do this,” I whispered, “everything changes.”

Three days later, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Ellie leaning against the frame, holding a tote bag and a six-pack of my favorite IPA.