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Leo kissed his teeth, the sharp sound echoing off the empty street.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

He stared at the card in his hand. Cream-colored, thick stock, nothing but a name and a phone number. No title. No company logo. Just Kyle in clean, minimalist font.

"Who gives a business card with only their first name?"

Someone who didn't need to explain himself, that was who.

Leo shoved the card into his back pocket and started walking. His footsteps felt heavy, each one weighted with the absurdity of the situation.

He was meeting a stranger for advice. A stranger who had appeared out of nowhere, sat across from Maya like he owned the library, and then walked away like he had done nothing unusual.

"This is insane."

But Leo kept walking.

He was an only child. No older brother to tell him when he was being an idiot. No older sister to translate the mysterious language of women. His parents meant well, but they didn't understand. They thought "just be yourself" was actionable advice.

"Myself isn't working." Leo often thought to himself.

He didn't have many friends. Not real ones. Acquaintances, classmates, people he exchanged nods with in the hallway. But Maya? Maya was different. She was the only one who had ever looked at him like he mattered.

"And now I'm in love with her."

Or maybe not love. Maybe it was infatuation. Maybe loneliness dressed up in a fancy coat, Leo didn't know anymore. All he knew was that the thought of her with someone else—that tall, handsome stranger—made his chest feel like it was caving in.

"I don't want to be the friend who harbored feelings quietly." Leo thought to himself as he headed back to the library.

He had seen that movie, the nice guy who waits too long, watches her fall for someone else, and spends the rest of his life wondering what if.

Leo refused to live that way.

If he confessed and she rejected him, at least he would know, even though she had done that already. At least he could move on. And if she found someone else after that? It would hurt, but it wouldn't be the same as never trying but Leo knew he had to try his best on this font.

"That's all that matters. Trying."

Leo pulled the card out of his pocket again. The streetlight caught the embossed letters, casting tiny shadows.

"Is this taking things a step too far?"

Meeting a stranger for dating advice. A stranger who had, for all Leo knew, his own agenda.

"But he gave me advice. Good advice. And he didn't have to."

Leo slipped the card back into his pocket and kept walking.

-

The California sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Calista's home, warming the marble floors and casting long shadows across the minimalist furniture. She stood in the kitchen, a glass of orange juice in her hand, her body finally feeling like her own again.

The sickness had passed. Days of nausea, weakness, the feeling that her insides were being wrung out like a wet cloth. Her mother had been there—physically, at least. Present in the room but not present in any meaningful way.

"Some things never change." Calista found herself constantly thinking.

Calista set the glass down and picked up her phone. A text from Lorenzo glowed on the screen.

[[Lorenzo: Heard you're feeling better. Can I come by?]]

She smiled. Lorenzo had been a constant through the ordeal. Checking in, sending stupid memes, offering to bring soup even when she said no. He was her co-star, yes, but lately he had become something more. A friend. Maybe more than a friend.

[[Calista: I'm home. Mom's still here though.]]

[[Lorenzo: I'll risk it.]]

She laughed softly and typed back the address.

Unknown to Calista, Lorenzo had not been sent by chance.

The message had come three weeks ago, from a number he didn't recognize. A man's voice, low and measured, offering him a simple arrangement: watch Calista. Report her movements. Nothing illegal, nothing intrusive. Just... watch.

Lorenzo had accepted. Not because he was afraid—though he was—but because he was curious. What had Calista done to warrant surveillance? Who was watching her? And why did the name "Kyle" keep coming up in whispered conversations?

He parked his car—a modest Audi, nothing flashy—and walked up the driveway. The house was nice. Not mansion-nice, but comfortable. Successful actress-nice. He rang the bell and waited.

The door opened.

Vivienne stood on the threshold.

She was older than Calista by a generation, but time had been kind to her. Her dark hair was swept back in an elegant twist, her cheekbones sharp, her lips painted a deep rose. She wore a silk blouse that draped across her chest in a way that seemed accidental but absolutely wasn't.

"Whoa."

Lorenzo had seen Vivienne before—in photos, in passing—but never up close. Never alone.

"Calista's mother," he said, recovering quickly. "Thank you for having me."

Vivienne's eyes swept over him. Slow and appraising. She didn't just look at his face. She looked at his shoulders, his chest, the way his jeans fit.

"Please," she said, stepping aside. "Call me Vivienne. And you must be Lorenzo. Calista has mentioned you."

"All good things, I hope," Lorenzo asked, the accent thick in his voice.

"That depends on what you consider good."

She smiled—a small, knowing curve—and led him inside.

Lorenzo followed, his eyes drifting despite himself. The silk blouse moved with her, clinging in places that made it difficult to look away. Unlike Kyle—who had reportedly averted his gaze like a gentleman—Lorenzo didn't bother.

"She's attractive. Older, but attractive. There's no harm in looking." Lorenzo thought to himself but who could blame him considering the circumstances.

Vivienne caught him staring. Her smile widened because it showed he was vulnerable to her looks.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, gesturing toward the living room. "Calista should be back soon. She had to pick up a prescription."

"Water would be great," Lorenzo responded right away, but Calista not being home was a bother as she could have simply told him she was stepping out.

Vivienne poured him a glass from a crystal decanter. Her movements were slow, deliberate. She leaned forward just enough as she set the glass on the coffee table.

"Calista is lucky to have you," Vivienne said, sitting across from him. She crossed her legs, and the silk of her blouse shifted. "She doesn't make friends easily."

"We're more than friends," Lorenzo said with a smile.

"Oh?" Vivienne's eyebrow arched. "How much more?"

Lorenzo took a sip of water. "We're a family," Lorenzo said with a satisfactory smile.

"Family, huh?" Vivienne nodded slowly. "I remember what it is like having those. It must be refreshing." Her voice dropped, just slightly. "The anticipation is quite something."

"Is she...?"

Lorenzo's pulse quickened, he had been around older women before. He knew the signs. The lingering looks, the accidental touches, the way a woman positioned herself to show off her best angles.

"This is Calista's mother. I can't."

But his body didn't care about can't.

"My daughter has good taste," Vivienne continued, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. "First that Kyle boy. Now you. Both so... handsome."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened at the mention of Kyle. He didn't know much about him, only that Calista spoke his name with a mix of respect and wariness.

"Kyle," Lorenzo said. "What's the story there?"

Vivienne waved a hand. "Complicated. Like everything with Calista. But he's out of the country now it seems. With some women, I hear." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Good riddance, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask," Lorenzo thought to himself.

"Is that something you should be telling me?" Lorenzo questioned.

"No. But I'm telling you anyway." Vivienne's hand drifted to her collar, fingers toying with the top button. "You're different from him. More... present."

Lorenzo's mouth went dry.

"She's coming onto me. Hard."

He knew his job. Watch Calista and report. This meant he couldn't do anything to break that trust. Sleeping with her mother would definitely count as breaking trust so this was enough to keep Lorenzo from imagining the extreme.

"But God, she makes it difficult."

"Vivienne," he said, his voice strained, "I don't think—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to her lips. "Don't think. It's so boring."

She rose from the couch and walked toward him. Not quickly. Not hesitantly. Just... gliding. Like she had done this a thousand times before.

Lorenzo's hands gripped the armrests.

"I can't. I won't."

But he was getting turned on. She knew exactly what she was doing. The way she moved, the way she looked at him, the way her blouse gaped just slightly when she leaned down—

The front door opened.

"Mom? I'm back."

Calista's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Vivienne straightened immediately, her expression shifting from seductress to doting mother in the span of a heartbeat.

"In here, darling," she called, her voice light and innocent.

Lorenzo exhaled. His heart was pounding. His palms were sweaty.

*That was close.*

Calista walked into the living room, a small paper bag in her hand. Her eyes went from her mother to Lorenzo, then back to her mother. Her expression didn't change—she had seen this act before.

"Lorenzo," she said, her voice flat. "You made it."

"I did."

She looked at her mother again. Vivienne smiled, unrepentant.

"I was just keeping him company," Vivienne said. "He's very charming."

"I'm sure he is." Calista set the bag on the counter and turned to Lorenzo. "Walk with me. I need some air."

Lorenzo stood, grateful for the escape. He nodded at Vivienne—polite, distant—and followed Calista out the door.

Behind them, Vivienne smiled to herself and poured another glass of water.

"That boy is trouble," she thought. "The fun kind."