Setting Expectations And Evaluations

You set down your fork beside the half-eaten avocado toast, gathering your thoughts before meeting Clara's expectant gaze across the table.

"Clara, I want to thank you for last night," you begin, your voice soft with sincerity. "It was... incredible. Truly. I've never experienced anything like it."

Clara smiles, reaching across to touch your hand. "I can tell by that blush it's not just flattery."

"It's definitely not," you admit, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. "But I think I need to go home and talk to David. Everything's coming at me so fast right now. I probably need to take a moment to evaluate where I am."

Something flickers across Clara's face—disappointment, perhaps understanding—before she squeezes your hand and releases it.

"I get it," she says, leaning back in her chair. "This is all new territory for you, isn't it? The whole... woman-woman thing."

You nod, grateful she's created an explanation that works without revealing the impossible truth. "Exactly. I need to sort through some things."

"And David's part of that sorting?" she asks, one eyebrow arched. Her tone is light, but you detect a hint of something deeper.

"I need to clear the air with him," you say carefully. "Whatever's happening between us—between you and me—I want to approach it with a clear head."

Clara takes a sip of her mimosa, studying you over the rim of her glass. "Fair enough. But don't overthink it either, Mia. Sometimes the best things happen when we let ourselves go with the flow."

You stand, still wearing only David's shirt. "I should probably get dressed."

"Your clothes are in the dryer," Clara says, rising to fetch them. "I tossed them in while you were asleep. Figured you wouldn't want to do the walk of shame in yesterday's outfit."

Ten minutes later, you're dressed in yesterday's emerald wrap dress, freshly laundered and smelling faintly of Clara's fabric softener. Your makeup is minimal after washing off last night's more dramatic look, and your hair falls in loose waves around your shoulders.

At the door, Clara hands you your clutch. "Text me later? Let me know how the 'talk' goes?"

"I will," you promise, surprised at how genuine the sentiment feels.

Clara leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "For luck," she murmurs against your mouth before pulling away. "And a reminder of what's waiting if things go sideways with your flatmate."

You step into the hallway, your body still humming from Clara's touch, David's shirt folded and tucked into your bag. As the door closes behind you, you check your phone to order an Uber, noticing all your daily tasks are complete. Twenty-five Return Points closer to becoming Matt again—if that's still what you want.

13:10 | Sunday 3 August 2025 | Uber, en route to Putney