Page 42 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

But he understood.

The tall one loved the loud one. The loud one loved the tall one. But they were bothidiots.

So he stayed.

Heburrowed. He farted. He guarded.

He did not nap. He patrolled.

He watched her watch the ceiling at 3 a.m., eyes wide and red but not crying.

He watched her talk to herself about “emotional sneezes” and “ruined pancakes” and “why does hehaveto be so good at coffee orders like a smug caffeine wizard?”

She fell asleep talking once. He didn’t move. Just shifted closer. Guarded the spot beside her heart where something had cracked.

He didn’t judge.

(Okay. He judged a little. But with love.)

And in the morning, when she sat on the kitchen floor in his direction and offered him a croissant—still warm, still flaky—and whispered, “You’re the only straight man I lo—trust,”he accepted it with grace.

He’d seen worse. He’deatenworse. He’d once stolen a burrito from a banker. He had no regrets.

He was Sir Stumps-a-Lot.

First of his name.

Witness to Kisses.

Unpaid therapist to fools in love.

Protector of the emotionally volatile.

And he would see this ridiculous, chaotic love story through to the end.

He sighed.

True nobility required sacrifice. And sometimes... croissants.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Non-Binding Oral Confusion

Linda

THE KISS WRECKED her.

Like, brain-empty, pulse-screaming, knees-a-little-weak wrecked. Not that she said any of that. Obviously. She couldn’t. Not after he’d kissed her forehead like she was his world.

Nope. Linda did what any emotionally unstable, fake-engaged woman with a minor honesty allergy would do: she laughed in Rhys’s face, called him a menace, made a vague threat about arson, and power-walked back into the party like her insidesweren’tdoing the Macarena at Mach 3.

But the next morning?

She sat on her couch in sweatpants, clutching a croissant she didn’t remember buying, staring at the ceiling like it owed her emotional back pay. Sir Stumps-a-Lot was perched on her chest, warm and judging.

“You saw it,” she muttered.

The corgi blinked once.

“Don’t judge me. It was afake kiss.He doesn’t even like—women. I mean, probably. Right? I mean,he kissed like he does.But that doesn’t mean anything.”

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