Page 126 of Only Mine
@moth4hire:wrenley i am two frames away from losing my job over this. give us asingleclue. even just the damn state.
@mosswife:this is not a cooking video this is a relationship reveal and we’re all pretending it’s not
@rejectedpesto:i’m not saying i screenshotted the cutting board to reverse search the wood grain but i did and i’m ashamed
@babygirlofgrief:the comment section is fighting for its life rn. WHO IS HE
@griefpizza:girl if you don’t tell us who he is we’re gonna start calling him “chef daddy” and you’re gonna hate it
@gothwheatthin:his wrists say “therapy,” his knuckles say “i never went”
@kneadtoknow:ho is you letting him season you like that
@beepboopoven:anyone recognize the ink? I reverse image searched and got NOTHING
“Okay, so they’re not in not full dox-mode. They’re buzzing, but not feral yet.” My voice rises the more I try to reason with myself. “I didn’t think it would blow upthis much, though. I mean, yeah, his sexiness can be spotted literally in his fingertips, but it’s not like I showed his face. Or said his name. The finger tattoos are basic enough. One little flame, some Roman numerals, and that half-faded X on his ring finger that lots of people do instead of wedding rings now. I’ve seen at least four baristas with the same one!”
“Okay, Wren, calm down. Would it be so bad if he’s identified? I told you that bringing this reclusive, hot chef into your world would work wonders for improving your rep online. And look, it’s working!”
I spin the stem of my mimosa, the drink souring in my stomach. “I should take it down.”
“Seventy-two thousand saves. Two hundred brands flagged it as high engagement. You didn’t even tag a product, and your click-throughs tripled. If you take this down, I will throw myself into your ring light and haunt you forever.”
“It wasn’t…” I pause because I can hear how defensive I sound. “He didn’t want to be part of my online persona. I promised.”
Brenda raises a perfectly groomed brow. “You really want to pretend you didn’t launch a whole man last week?”
I half-laugh, half-die. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything. It was just nice to do with him. Quiet. Safe.”
“Baby,” Brenda says, gently now, “quiet doesn’t trend.”
“This doesn’t work for him,” I say firmly.
Brenda blinks.
“Returning to social media was my choice because I love the community I built and that I’m a part of. This is my comeback. My second chance. Saint didn’t ask for any of it.”
Brenda softens, just a little. “You can’t fault yourself for being so damn good at making content.”
I stare at the screen again, taking in all the comments, the freeze-frames, and the zoom-ins. They love him. And they don’t even know who he is.
Which means the second they find out … they’ll eat him alive.
And he’ll know it was me who fed them.
TWENTY-EIGHT
SAINT
Ivy’s back from her sleepover and crunches through cereal next to me, using one of the good mugs again because she says it makes the flakes taste better. I told her that made no sense. She said I was old.
She’s in a talking mood this morning. Humming something under her breath, tapping her spoon against the rim like it’s a drum. I should tell her to stop before she chips the porcelain, but I don’t. I like the sound of her in the kitchen.
It used to be a quiet house. I thought I liked that.
Now, when it’s silent, I notice what’s missing.
Ivy grabs my attention again when she drapes herself over the counter like she’s melting. Crumbs from her cereal cling to the sleeve of her unicorn onesie.
