♫ Oh, I hear sex and candy
Oh, I could keep on dancing
Oh, let's go somewhere fancy ♪
{Lennon Stella—Fancy}

Coralie's shift at the bar that night wasn't as long and frustrating. Not that the usual, irksome clientele wasn't there; but she didn't pay them much attention. When old creeps hit on her, she responded with a smile. When obviously underaged patrons tumbled in already halfway drunk, she served them without a care, like her boss had asked her to. And when she received glares from middle-aged women who seemed distressed by her constant singing and humming, she flashed them the most annoying grins—that prompted them to at once mind their own business.

"Well, you're quite chipper tonight," said Bella, hopping onto a stool, startling Coralie from her recent transaction.

Coralie ran around the bar and yanked Bella into a bone-crushing hug. "I am, because I have huge news."

She leaned back, and inspected Bella's outfit—way too fancy for a dive like this one. She wore a sparkly top under her white dress-jacket, and tight navy jeans that displayed her best features—her legs. Thunder thighs, she called them, without malice towards herself; Bella loved herself and inspired others to do the same.

"Whoa, what's the occasion? You didn't get all dolled up for me, did you?"

Bella tossed her shimmery copper mane and wriggled about as she took her seat, free from Coralie's clutch. "What's good here? I don't want to drink too much."

"Bella." Coralie sauntered back behind the counter—she spotted her boss scowling at her from across the room—and wiped down the chipped surface before setting a glass in front of Bella. "Why are you dressed up? Are we going out after this? You should have warned me, because I—"

"—I have a date." Bella said it so fast, the sentence jumbled into one chunky word.

Coralie paused in grabbing a bottle of Malibu from the shelf and smashed into the counter, gawking at her best friend. "A date? How? With whom? Fuck, girl, you got here yesterday!"

The subtle scarlet shade on Bella's cheeks grew darker. "I can't tell you with whom, okay? That's why I'm being secretive about it." She tapped her ivory-colored nails to the counter. "And that's why I can't overindulge on the drinking; I need to be sharp tonight. One cocktail—and don't overdose it, got it?"

Coralie didn't push—Bella tended to clam up when pressed with questions—but her mind raced with wonder. Had Bella in fact come to New York not because Delilah had summoned her, but because she'd met someone there? Via some transcontinental dating app? Had she fallen for an American? That would be most unlike her; Bella was a culturally rich woman, interested in fine dining and museums and visiting heritage sites. Most American men, she claimed, had no topics to discuss aside from football, beer, and politics.

Sometimes, Coralie found herself comparing Bella to another high-class person she knew; Ryan. They were, Ryan's cheating and asshole tendencies aside, quite similar. Refined, used to luxury, well-bred, polite on the surface, disgustingly naughty on the down-low. Bella sat up straight and smiled and carried herself as a docile, sweet young woman; in truth, she'd slept with more men than Coralie. And likely more than Delilah—but it was hard to get an accurate count from her.

Coralie would never tell Bella of the comparison, though. Despite having grown up together, Bella detested Ryan and his current attitude. She'd said as much over the phone, in their chat, on their video-calls, and in person, yesterday. Coralie wouldn't forget that, and she'd noted it in her journal—the girls hate Ryan most.

Contrary to her request, Bella had two cocktails, because Coralie hadn't put enough alcohol in them.

"I'm nervous," said Bella, twirling the neon pink straw around her finger. "Since I ended things with that prick, I've been cautious, and this... this is a big deal."

Coralie craved to beg her for details, but she'd give them when she was ready. "You look terrific, you smell like a meadow of flowers, and you always have witty subjects to talk about—you'll be fine, love." She poured herself a quick shot of Malibu and slugged it down after double checking that her manager had retired to his office.

"Meadow of flowers?" Bella scoffed and slurped up some of her mixed drink. "I'm not sure that's the effect I'm aiming for, but thank you. But what about you? Your huge news? We bypassed that to focus on me, and that's not right."

Struggling to contain her excitement, Coralie explained the last-minute rooftop bar gig with Mellie Murray—Bella gasped and squeaked, as a fan herself—and the mounting pressure from spending the entire day picking out the correct songs.

"It was difficult, and at first I couldn't choose any of them." Coralie took payment from a departing patron, who left her a meager tip that she sneered at. Then again, she'd been inattentive most of the evening, too busy chatting with Bella—she didn't deserve much of a tip, anyway. "Seems like an ongoing issue with me, huh? Not knowing what, or who, to pick."

"Darling." Bella reached over the counter and snagged Coralie's hand, squeezing. "It's not the same thing. Choosing songs, choosing men—different dilemmas of different importance. The songs; those were vital. A chance in a lifetime. The men... they can wait, I promise. And they'll have no choice if they really want you."

"Oh, they want me." Coralie scoffed and grabbed her rag to wipe down a spill a few feet away. "But not me; my body. There's so much electricity with each of them, it's like I can't unglue myself from them, or them from me. Like the universe keeps stuffing us together, and putting me in a position to have no fucking clue what I want. It was easier before, yeah? Even when I was with Jayden—I knew I didn't want him, and that was a relief when I figured it out. But having three delicious options in front of me and not being clear on which one I'd eat from forever, nor which would stick around forever? That's something else."

"Well," Bella finished her drink and stood up, "that's a psychologist-level analogy right there, if I've ever heard one." She dropped a few bills on the counter, and swiped at Coralie's hand when she tried to refuse them. "But here's another one for you; be patient with yourself. If you force it, that's when you'll make the wrong choice, and regret it. Better to test their patience and see if they drop off on their own, than to play a dangerous game of picking at random and fuck it up." She puckered her lips and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Better to be alone that in a relationship you hate; you and I both know that."

Coralie wanted to come around and embrace her, but one of her co-workers had been giving her the stink eye, and she feared they'd tattle on her if she distanced herself from the bar again.

"If I have to wait, I'll wait. I have fingers," she wiggled said fingers and winked, "and can get by that way, if I must. But how will I know, Bel? Will the world manifest some magical sign that'll point me in the right direction? Will one of them suddenly become boring in bed and I'll lose interest? Is there a foolproof approach, to be sure?"

Bella offered a weak smile as she adjusted her top and buttoned her jacket. "Not foolproof, no, but here's my advice: listen to your heart. Some will tell you it's all in your brain, but it's not. Your heart has the answers, and it'll reveal them to you when it's ready. And most definitely do not obey that wild vagina of yours, hm?"

She traipsed out, swaying her hips, men dropping like flies in her wake. Coralie again wondered who her date was, but resumed her work, preferring to dream about her upcoming gig, instead. Her only means to keep distracted from the three men who dropped like flies in her presence.

***

Every day was more intense than the last. With her tunes picked out, Coralie spent hours on end in the studio, rehearsing. She had vocal exercises several times a day, training on how to take over the stage, to captivate the audience, and also had to master Mellie's songs, in case she asked Coralie to join in sometime that night. Mellie was known for her generosity, and Coralie wouldn't let it go to waste by not being prepared.

She took an indefinite amount of non-paid days off from the bar—to her boss' detriment—and came home exhausted, barely able to stay awake long enough to eat dinner and haul herself into the shower. She felt like a zombie—a smiling, excited one, to be sure—and didn't have much time to chat with Delilah or unwind with Bella.

But it meant she also had no time to ponder over her situation with Michael, Ryan, and Chester. With them blocked, they never appeared on her newsfeed—that she was required to check, to stay up to date on the social media world. Which meant she didn't spend hours inspecting their photos, analyzing their status updates, or glaring at the screen in anticipation of their calls and texts.

The only one she saw news of was Michael. She'd unfollowed him, not blocked him, but still his name popped up in her feed on Friday night, as she finally had a spare moment to breathe. Nikita and the bosses at the label weren't tyrants; they wanted her to unwind and get some rest, and had agreed to let her take the weekend off. So she'd decided to spend the night in with Bella and Delilah, gossiping about their weeks, and still sneakily trying to figure out who Bella had gone on a date with.

She hadn't brought it up again, and Coralie hadn't heard her come home the night of the date. Delilah had no more information than her, and shrugged when Coralie had asked her. "No clue, babe; I didn't hear her come in, either."

Coralie was battering Bella with other questions—asking her when she was leaving, and if it would affect her new relationship here—when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, but the screen had already blacked out, meaning it was a text or a message.

It can wait. Hounding Bella with questions is more important.

"I don't know," said Bella, dipping a chip into the salsa on the coffee table. They'd ordered Mexican takeout, and were feasting on appetizers while they waited for their meals to arrive. "A while, I think. I took a slight sabbatical from work, at my therapist's request. It was a legitimate prescription, believe it or not, so my supervisor had no way to deny it."

Coralie always forgot exactly what Bella's title was, but she was high-placed in her company and did something with charts and numbers. A migraine-inducing career, for sure, and it didn't shock her Bella needed some space from it.

But the vagueness bothered Coralie. She opened her mouth to insist on a better reply, but her phone buzzed again.

"Will you get that?" Delilah, sitting cross-legged on the floor, as close as possible to the salsa, glowered at Coralie. "If it vibrates one more time, it'll knock over the goods. No stains on this carpet, young lady."

Rolling her eyes, Coralie snatched her phone from the coffee table and unlocked it. Upon discovering the sender, she deflated into the couch and huffed.

"What?" Delilah crunched on a chip and swallowed. "Which one is it? Who bypassed your blockage to contact you, hm?"

Coralie sighed, holding the phone near her lap as she gaped at her friends. "The one who wasn't fully blocked; Michael."

Delilah, who'd shoved another bite into her mouth, waved at Coralie.

Bella, leaning in closer, patted her thigh. "Come on, read it! Share with us."

They'd already had several glasses of wine each, and with empty stomachs, they were a tad inebriated. Coralie would have preferred to be sober to read what Michael had to say, but she didn't want to ignore him, either.

Break or not, he's technically still my boyfriend.

She brought the phone up to her face; two Facebook messages, sent within a few minutes of one another.

MICHAEL MILLS: Hey, Cora. I landed in NYC, now all settled in my hotel room. It's across town from you, I think.

MICHAEL MILLS: I wanted to touch base to see if you'd meet up with me, at some point? I respect you and your space, I do; but this is eating me on the inside.

Delilah remained quiet after Coralie read it out loud. She chewed on her chips, eyebrows wrinkling and rising, mouth twitching. She was in deep thought; that, or the wine had gotten to her, and she had nothing nice to say.

It was Bella who spoke first, breaking the silence, after a sip of her beverage. "I think you should meet with him."

"What?" Coralie scowled at her. "After forcing him into a break and blocking his number, I should see him? Why?"

Bella pointed at the left side of her chest. "Your heart, remember? You haven't seen him in a while, and a lot of things have happened since. Arguments and savage sex with Ryan, close encounters with Chester; it's only fair you give Michael a chance to show you what he's worth. And it's even better because he doesn't realize he has competition. He'll be his genuine self, trying to win you over, win you back. That's how you'll know," she jammed her finger harder into her breast, "if he's the one in your heart or not."

Delilah swallowed, her gaze resting on Bella in shock or awe, Coralie couldn't tell. "Wow. So simple. Yeah," she flipped to Coralie and gave her a thumb's up, "what she said. I'm too intoxicated to make pretty sentences like hers, but I agree."

Beaming with pride, Bella fixed the blanket she'd set over her legs, adjusting her spot on the sofa. "But don't come clean on your errors. I'm not saying I accept your cheating and lies, but you shouldn't confess those yet. It's not time for that." She sent a piercing glance at Coralie. "He's not ready for that brutality. If you choose him, then you can tell him, and give him space to deal with or deny what you've done. He'll be the one needing a break once he's informed, so brace yourself for that, if he is your first choice. You don't deserve him, but... crazier things have happened."

She lifted her glass and clinked it with Delilah's, who was giggling about who-knew-what under her breath. Her drunken gibberish was coming out, and Coralie resolved to not let her open the door when the delivery man arrived.

"Okay." Coralie shook herself and blew out a breath; she cringed at the scent of the alcohol swishing out of her mouth. "Okay, I'll message him. Next week, yeah?"

The girls were too busy laughing about funny-shaped chips they'd grabbed, so Coralie concentrated on her phone.

CORALIE AMBER WATSON: Hi. Glad you got here safe. I'm a bit booked the next few days, but how about we meet for coffee sometime during the week?

She paused, going through her agenda in her mind.

CORALIE AMBER WATSON: I believe Tuesday is a less charged day for me. Does that work?

She locked her phone, slid it onto the cushion beside her, and joined in on her friends and their hilarity—about famous faces they saw in the tortilla chips. Childish innocent fun that they'd all needed; and Coralie welcomed it with pleasure.

♥♥♥