Page 22 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

But there it was: a small card on artisan paper, printed in gold leaf and tucked beside a single, judgmental sourdough roll.

“In this wheat, a whisper / In this crust, our dreams—”

Linda stopped reading. “This bread thinks it's better than me.”

Across the table, Rhys stifled a smile.

“Welcome to Loam. Where everything’s locally sourced, aggressively plated, and approximately 70% emotion.”

Linda arched a brow. “Did your client request this place specifically, or are they also allergic to fun?”

Rhys tugged at his collar. “Funny story.”

He pulled out his phone, waved it vaguely, then scrolled with the desperate energy of a man trying to conjure text receipts from thin air.

“So, uh. Turns out the client canceled. Last minute. Big family emergency. But hey—no worries. We don’t have to stay. Kind of a relief, right?”

Linda blinked. “Wait. We’re already here.” She paused. Stared. “You wore a tie.”

Rhys glanced down. “It’s technically an expensive shoelace. But thank you.”

She ignored that. “I’ve always wanted to eat here. Just once. It feels like the kind of place that changes your tax bracket just by walking through the door.”

Rhys hesitated. “You sure? I mean, it’s—”

“Yes. I want the bread that thinks it’s better than me. I want the mushroom foam. I want to feel judged by a carrot that was massaged by monks. And if this is on the company’s dime...”

Rhys nodded. “Absolutely. Company’s dime.”

Spoiler: it was not.

Also, spoiler: he was absolutely going to lie to his bank account later and pretend it was self-care.

They ordered. Linda tried not to moan over the starter that had six ingredients but tasted like a forest had flirted with her tastebuds. Rhys looked entirely too smug about his tiny smoked scallop tower.

And just as Linda relaxed—

“Well, well, well.” An unfamiliar voice purred behind her.

Rhys flinched like he’d been hit with emotional shrapnel. “No.”

“Isn’t this cozy,” said Liv, appearing from thin air in a statement coat and chaotic neutrality. “Darcy, look! It’s Rhys and his brunch mate.”

“Girlfriend.” Linda blurted automatically. She knew how beards worked, after all. Unless he told her that they knew he was gay, she was officially in fake-girlfriend mode.

Darcy, trailing behind her in heeled boots and menace, grinned. “Oh good. We can finally meet the girl he’s dating.”

Linda blinked. “I—what.”

“These are my sisters,” he muttered. “They’re twins. In theory. But in practice they’re... this.”

Darcy leaned over the table, her smile weaponized. “We werejust passing by,obviously. Totally coincidental.”

Liv slid into the empty chair beside Rhys without asking. “Don’t mind us. We’ll just order drinks and make everything weird for ten minutes.” She watched Rhys silently beg his sisters to disappear with his eyes alone.

Linda’s brain was doing gymnastics.

Because they thought he was straight. And she was his real girlfriend.

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