Coffee, Coworkers, and Complete Emotional Collapse

Bay Bryant had exactly three things on her mind when she walked into work that Monday morning:

• Pretend to care about the morning sales meeting.

• Avoid eye contact with Jane.

• No. Flirting. Today. Not after what happened with the stapler.

“Morning, Bay,” Jane said with that effortless smile, already at her desk and somehow looking like a Pinterest board in a blazer.

Bay made a strangled noise that was meant to be a “hi” but came out more like the sound of a microwave dying. She walked straight into the copy machine.

“Smooth,” Jane added, biting her lip in amusement.

Bay nodded, backing away from the machine like it had personally betrayed her. She didn’t speak. She just pulled out her phone and shot a text under the table.

Bay: Abort mission. I made microwave sounds at Jane again.

Kylee: You need therapy, not coffee.

Bay: That’s rude. But accurate.

Kylee: What did I say about flirting before caffeine?

Bay: It wasn’t flirting. It was dying.

Kylee was probably laughing on the other end, sipping tea and judging her from the safety of her art studio. Must be nice not to fall apart every time a woman with collarbones says “good morning.”

Bay shoved her phone in her bag and made a beeline for the breakroom, mentally vowing to hide there until lunch or death, whichever came first.

Inside the breakroom, Bay clutched her travel mug like it was a holy relic. The coffee machine sputtered ominously, possibly in solidarity.

“I hate her,” Bay muttered aloud, as if saying it would make it true.

She did not hate Jane. Jane had the kind of laugh that made your stomach twist in a good way, like a rollercoaster or tequila on an empty stomach. Jane also had this habit of tucking her hair behind one ear when she was concentrating that made Bay want to scream into a pillow. Or propose. Maybe both.

The door creaked open behind her. Bay flinched and whispered a quick prayer to the gay gods.

Please not Jane. Please not Jane. Please not—

“Morning, Bay!”

It was Carlos, the HR guy who still thought “vibes” was a personality. Bay exhaled.

“Hey, Carlos.”

“You look... uh, you good?” he asked, taking in her oversized hoodie, crooked eyeliner, and half-burned bagel.

“No,” she said, deadpan. “But thanks for noticing.”

He chuckled awkwardly and started rummaging for a spoon. “You going to the Pride planning meeting this week? They want at least one rep from each department.”

Bay blinked. “Parcel has a Pride meeting?”

Carlos gave her a look. “Bay. We had one last year. You got banned from karaoke for trying to duet with a drag queen mid-ballad.”

“Ohhh. Right. I thought that was a fever dream.”

“Hard no. There’s video.”

She sighed, slurped her coffee, and filed that under things to emotionally blackmail myself with later.

Her phone buzzed again.

Kylee: You alive? Or did Jane smile again and now you’re in a coma?

Bay: Just got invited to a Pride committee. Will probably combust.

Kylee: Oooh, sounds promising. Jane’s on it too, right?

Bay stared at the message like it had personally declared war.

Bay: Wait. Jane’s ON the committee?!

Kylee: Yup. She’s in charge of sponsor outreach. You’re gonna die. This is your villain origin story.

Bay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finished her coffee like a shot of regret.

“Carlos,” she said slowly, “sign me up for the damn committee.”