Chapter Twelve — What Bette Said
Bette settled into her seat on a Tuesday morning in the third week of January.
This was still a rare occurrence. Bette sitting down was a notable event — something that only happened when the moment truly called for it, and she had decided it was time, disregarding everyone else's thoughts on the matter.
She faced Zara across the table.
With her hands neatly folded, she looked at her with the kind of intensity that came from twenty-three years of reading people.
"He came in yesterday," she said. "Wednesday. The day you had back-to-back client calls."
Zara glanced up from her laptop. "Daniel came in without me?"
"He did. He sat at the table, sipped his coffee, and went through his legal pad." Bette paused, her timing impeccable, as if she understood the power of silence. "Before he left, he asked me something."
Zara waited, curiosity piqued.
"He wanted to know if you seemed happy." Bette held her gaze steady. "Not just happy in general. Specifically — in the last few weeks since things shifted between you two. Does she seem happy, or does she look like she's trying to accommodate something she never wanted?"
The coffee shop buzzed around them, but Zara remained perfectly still.
"What did you say?" she asked softly.
"I told him she looks like someone who's finally set down something delicate," Bette replied simply. "And stopped worrying about whether it might shatter."
She stood up and walked back to the counter.
Zara sat there, sipping her coffee, lost in thoughts about the Tuesday morning, what Bette had said, and what it meant that Daniel had come in alone on a Wednesday to inquire about the state of her happiness.
Not just happy.
Specifically.
She pulled out her phone.
Bette told me about Wednesday. — Z
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
I was going to tell you. — D
When. — Z
When I found the right words. — D
The words were fine, Daniel. — Z
She typed: Are you alright? — D
She glanced at the message.
Thoughts swirled in her mind about the monitoring that had ceased, about that unique kind of happiness that didn't need to be measured because it was just there. She remembered Bette saying she looked like someone who had set something delicate down.
More than alright, she typed. — Z
She set her phone aside.
Then, she returned to the hotel project.
At one o'clock, Daniel walked through the Groundwork door.
He settled into the chair across from her at the corner table, the January light streaming through the window, with the coffee Bette had already brewed waiting for him. He wore the expression of someone who had something important to share but was weighing his words carefully.
"I should have told you myself," he admitted.
"Yes," she replied. "You should have."
"I just didn't know how to say it without it sounding like I was keeping score of what I had given versus what I had taken."
"You weren't keeping score."
"No." He met her gaze. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That all of this—" he gestured slightly, indicating January and their daily lives together, "was sitting well with you."
"Why didn't you just ask me?" she questioned.
"I was going to," he said. "But I kept finding excuses not to."
She studied him across the corner table.
"Daniel," she said firmly. "I am okay. More than okay." She held his gaze without wavering. "You can always ask me directly. I'll always give you the honest answer."
He looked at her for a long moment, and something shifted in his expression.
"Are you happy?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Completely."
"Good," he said.
Just then, Bette appeared. "What are you having?" she asked, looking between them with a look of pure innocence.