"Bitter and Sweet"

The Morning After Isn’t Soft

The problem with moments like that? They don't stay in the moment, they follow you into the next breath, the next thought, the next day.

Courtney didn't sleep, not really. She closed her eyes, turned from side to side, replayed everything—every word, every glance, every second of that moment she couldn't take back not that she wanted to, that was the problem. She didn't regret it and that made it worse.

By the time morning came, she was already at the café, earlier than usual, moving through her routine like muscle memory could keep her grounded. It didn't because every part of her was waiting for him.

The bell chimed. 9:10. Of course, Courtney didn't turn right away, she steadied herself first.

"Caramel latte?" she said, keeping her voice even.

A pause then Renz's voice, just as controlled— "Yes."

Like nothing happened, like everything happened. Courtney prepared the drink without looking at him, focusing too hard on the details—pouring, stirring, placing the cup exactly where it always went, routine, safe, familiar but when she finally looked up, it wasn't. Not anymore because now, there was something between them unspoken, undeniable, different.

"You're early," he said.

"You're on time."

A beat. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

Silence settled but not the comfortable kind they had before. This one felt… careful, measured like both of them were testing the ground beneath their feet.

Renz reached for the cup, but this time, his fingers brushed hers again and neither of them pulled away immediately just a second longer, just enough to feel it.

They both let go.

Courtney cleared her throat slightly. "So."

"So," he echoed.

Another pause. She crossed her arms lightly. "We're not going to talk about it?"

Renz held her gaze. "Do you want to?"

That caught her off guard. "Yes," she said honestly. "No. I don't know."

"That makes two of us."

Courtney let out a small breath. "That's not helpful."

"It's honest."

She looked at him for a long moment. "That meant something," she said quietly not a question, a statement.

Renz didn't hesitate this time. "Yes."

Her chest tightened. "Okay," she whispered. Another pause. "What now?" she asked.

There it was. The question neither of them could avoid.

Renz set the cup down slowly. "I don't know," he admitted.

Courtney nodded once, like she expected that. "You always say that," she said.

"Because it's true."

"And that's the problem."

Silence stretched again but this time, it didn't hold, it pressed.

Courtney leaned back against the counter, grounding herself. "I don't do… unclear," she said.

"I'm not trying to be unclear."

"But you are."

Renz exhaled slowly, his composure slipping just slightly. "I'm trying not to rush something I don't understand yet."

Courtney frowned. "That sounds like hesitation."

"It's not."

"Then what is it?"

He met her eyes. "Care." That word hit harder than she expected.

Courtney blinked. "You're being careful?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since you."

The simplicity of it made her chest tighten again but it didn't fix things not completely.

"Careful still feels like uncertain," she said.

"I am uncertain," he admitted. "About how this works."

Courtney shook her head slightly. "I'm not asking you to know everything."

"Then what are you asking?"

She hesitated then said it anyway. "I'm asking you not to treat this like something temporary."

Renz didn't respond immediately and that silence, that hesitation, it said too much.

Courtney felt it instantly. Her expression shifted. "See?" she said quietly. "That's what I mean."

"That's not what this is."

"Then say it."

Renz's jaw tightened. "I'm here."

"That's not the same."

"What do you want me to say?"

Courtney's voice dropped, softer but sharper.

"That you're not going to wake up one day and decide this was a mistake."

Silence, heavy, unavoidable. Renz didn't answer right away because he couldn't, not honestly and Courtney saw that. Of course she did.

She let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. "Right," she murmured.

"That's not fair," he said.

"It's honest."

"I just told you I'm trying."

"And I told you trying isn't enough if you're already halfway out."

That hit hard. Renz stepped closer, his voice lower now. "I'm not leaving."

"Not yet," she replied.

The words stung more than she intended but she didn't take them back because they were true at least to her, another crack deeper this time.

Renz ran a hand through his hair again, frustration slipping through. "You're asking me for certainty I don't have," he said.

"And you're asking me to risk something without it," she shot back.

Silence. They stood there, closer than before but somehow further apart, that was the problem, not distance, mismatch, timing, fear. Everything colliding at once.

Courtney looked at him, her voice quieter now.

"I don't regret what happened," she said.

Renz's expression softened slightly. "Neither do I."

"But I won't pretend it didn't change things."

"It didn't," he said.

"It did," she insisted. A pause then, more softly, "It made this real."

That landed because it was too real, too soon, too complicated.

Courtney exhaled slowly. "I just… need to know I'm not the only one who feels that," she said.

Renz stepped closer again not touching but close enough to mean something. "You're not," he said quietly.

She held his gaze searching, measuring, hoping and still something felt incomplete like they were almost on the same page but not quite and sometimes "Almost" hurts more than "nothing."