Chapter Five

Nancy stood at the whiteboard in her office, uncapping a red marker with her teeth as Mark crouched beside the storyboard mock-ups on the floor like a caffeine-deprived cryptid. A half-drunk coffee cup was perched on the window sill behind him, its contents long cold. Her office smelled faintly of vanilla toner, ambition, and stress.

“Okay,” she said, drawing a smooth arrow between two frames. “We pull the camera back here. We’re not just selling perfume—we’re selling power. Confidence. Desire.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, tapping his tablet like it had personally offended him. “So…we’re selling an invisible liquid in a fancy bottle by zooming in and out on cheekbones and collarbones. Got it.”

She smirked. “It works. The fragrance is seductive. The campaign needs to reflect that.”

“It reflects something,” he said, standing and brushing nonexistent lint from his sweater. “It’s just hard to keep a straight face when you say ‘power’ and we’re talking about spritzing floral mist onto a wrist.”

Nancy tossed him a mock-scowl. “You know I live for the visuals.”

“And I live for a consistent espresso supply,” he said. “We all have our crosses.”

She laughed and turned back to the board. The layout was solid. The campaign was sexy, confident, clean—and utterly expected. It felt like a win, but not a thrill.

“Hey,” she said, casually, like it had just occurred to her. “Did you see the open bid from that video game company? The one releasing the expansion pack for that PC strategy game?”

Mark glanced up from his tablet. “The one with dragons and cosmic cults? Yeah, I saw it. Not exactly our usual luxury crowd.”

“I know,” Nancy said, folding her arms. “But it’s a big launch. Major cross-brand potential. And the world-building is incredible—it could make for some really cinematic marketing work.”

Mark didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at her over the rim of his cup like she’d just suggested the company take on a barbecue sauce account.

“You thinking of pitching?” he asked eventually.

She shrugged, but her foot tapped the floor. “Just…curious.”

Mark cocked his head. “You? Curious about PC games? Last I checked, you stick to handhelds — more bite-sized, less dragons and cosmic cults.”

“I’m not clueless,” Nancy said quickly. “I mean, I’m a gamer nerd. It’s just not my usual jam. But the campaign looks interesting.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Interesting, or is there something else?”

Nancy opened her mouth, closed it. She hadn’t figured that out yet. The challenge? The change? Or was it—

“Ohhh,” Mark said, drawing out the syllable like it was dripping in tea. “Wait. Is this because of Ethan?”

She blinked. “What? No. That’s—no.”

He gave her a look.

She gave him one back.

Mark raised his hands in surrender. “Just saying. The timing is suspiciously aligned. Guy’s a data analyst, sure. But he’s a total nerd about Magic The Gathering and Star Trek. And you’re suddenly eyeing dragons and cults like they’re your next career move.”

“It’s just interesting,” she said, too quickly.

“And he’s just a guy you may want to impress,” Mark said with a grin. “You like him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

Before she could argue further, her phone buzzed on the desk. A text lit up the screen:

Ethan:
Mini golf this weekend? I promise not to show off unless I’m winning.

Her lips twitched. She stared at the message a beat longer than necessary before typing back:

Nancy:
Only if you promise not to cry when I destroy you.

Mark was watching her like a sitcom audience waiting for the laugh track.

“What?” she said, too casually.

He just sipped his coffee, deadpan. “I’m just wondering what fragrance pairs best with butterflies in the stomach.”

Nancy’s heels clicked against the pavement as she stepped out of the office building, the late afternoon sun slanting low and warm through the city streets. The week had felt endless, but now the weekend was almost within reach. She exhaled, a slow breath of relief that somehow filled the spaces her busy day couldn’t.

She pulled out her phone and ordered Chinese takeout—her usual go-to after a long week. Sweet and sour pork, extra steamed rice, and enough spring rolls to feel like a guilty indulgence.

At home, she slid out of her work clothes and into the frumpiest, comfiest outfit she owned: soft, faded leggings, an oversized sweatshirt featuring a beloved police box that was bigger on the inside, and her hair twisted up in a messy bun that refused to be tamed.

Planting herself on the couch, she switched on her handheld console. The soft, pixelated world of her favorite farming and dating simulator flickered to life. The gentle hum of the game felt like home, a place where she could disconnect from the noise of the real world.

But her mind was anything but quiet.

That fight with Nellie.

It pulsed in her chest like a stubborn bruise. How had things gotten so messy? She replayed every word. Nellie’s sharp, accusing tone, the way she’d insinuated that Ethan was a pipe dream or even a delusional self-indulgence. And Aaron. God, how had he been so infuriating? So immediately pretentious, the sheer hubris of him. Nellie had missed the mark entirely with him specifically, but…was she really wrong? Was Nancy the one who’d dug her heels in too deep?

The thought twisted inside her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Mark’s last text again, grateful for the dry humor that kept her sane. She had her job, her steady rhythm, and Mark—the unflappable anchor in her storm. The work she loved grounded her, even if her personal life felt like a spinning top about to fall.

Still, as she planted virtual crops and tended pixelated animals, the questions spiraled.

What am I even doing?
Where does a guy like Ethan fit into this picture?
Am I moving too fast?
Is mini golf with him this weekend even realistic? Or should I just wait?

Her heart clenched. The voice of reason—the one Nellie had tried to sound—echoed loud and clear.

Maybe I should give Nellie another chance.
Maybe I’m the one who burned the bridge.

She still loved Nellie, that friendship had been a lifeline through so much. But now… it felt like a fracture too wide to bridge.

And Ethan. The sweet texts, the easy smiles, the nervous hope.

But was she fooling herself? Was this a fairytale in fast-forward?

Am I ready for something real? she wondered, the words sinking like stones in her stomach.

The game’s soft music swirled around her, but her thoughts refused to quiet.

Is it too late?
Should I get cats? Would they fill the space inside, or just echo the loneliness?
Why do I feel so alone when I have people who care?
Am I just too stubborn?
Am I broken?

The panic rose, slow at first, then crashing like a tidal wave. Her breath hitched, the room seemed too tight, too noisy.

She gripped the console tighter, her knuckles white, the pixels blurring as tears pricked her eyes.

What if I’m wrong about everything?

Her chest tightened, a weight pressing down, threatening to crush her calm.

With a shaky breath, she set the console down and pushed herself up, pacing the small room.

The night stretched ahead, heavy and uncertain.

The phone rang, and for a moment, Nancy just stared at it, breath caught in her throat. Her screen lit up with a goofy, wide-eyed selfie of Ethan posing mockingly like Nancy with his dog, Crowley—tongue out, one ear flopped sideways like he was mid-laugh. The picture was from the weekend. She remembered laughing when she took it.

Now it made her smile again.

The tightness in her chest loosened, just slightly. A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn’t care. She wiped it quickly, sniffed once, then tapped accept.

“Hey!” she said, trying to inject more cheer into the word than her body could muster. Her voice cracked slightly. “Wasn’t expecting a call.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Ethan’s voice, warm and tentative: “Yeah… I debated it. I know some people aren’t phone-call people. But I just… figured I’d try.”

“No, I’m—” She hesitated, then let out a small laugh that still carried the echo of a sniffle. “I’m glad. Really glad.”

“You okay?” he asked. Not too directly. Just enough.

She hesitated, then gave a watery chuckle. “Yeah. Just... been a long week. One of those brain-spiral evenings. Your timing’s impeccable.”

He didn’t pry. Didn’t ask what had set her off. Instead, he shifted the topic gently. “Okay, then. Important question: what’s your favorite food?”

She blinked. “That’s your follow-up?”

“Hey, I take food seriously. Don’t judge.”

She grinned. “Orange chicken. No contest.”

“Classic. Did you eat already?”

“Mmhm. Chinese. But I got sweet and sour pork this time.”

“Branching out. Nice.”

“I try not to eat too much red meat, but sometimes it wins. It’s… tasty.”

“Perfect excuse.” His smile came through in his voice. “Dessert plans?”

“Undecided,” she said thoughtfully. “If I do, it’ll be ice cream. Nothing like a threesome with Ben and Jerry.”

“Fair,” he said. “You doing anything? I almost didn’t call—I thought you might be in the middle of a show or something.”

“Stardew Valley,” she said with a shrug. “But I couldn’t focus.”

He laughed softly, sensing that she was guarding. “Been there. Okay. New proposal. Ever play Mario Kart?”

She sat up a little straighter. “Oh my god. Yes. One of my favorite games.”

“Well then. It’s only fair I challenge you. One-on-one.”

Nancy grinned, suddenly lighter. “Prepare to be absolutely obliterated.”

They exchanged game tags, the anxiety melting away under the friendly threat of a digital race. Within minutes, the familiar countdown chime of Mario Kart filled her living room, and the first race began.

It was close—ridiculously close—but Ethan edged her out by a hair.

“Okay,” she said, pointing at the screen even though he couldn’t see her. “That was a warm-up.”

“Oh? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Rematch. Prepare to be humbled.”

And she delivered. The second race was hers, no contest.

They played for hours—joking, racing, teasing. Nancy found herself laughing freely, without strain. The spiral that had threatened to crush her earlier dissolved into the background, like a fog burned off by morning sun.

As the night wore on, their voices grew softer. Their trash talk gentler. Time stopped mattering.

Somewhere around midnight, Nancy curled deeper into her couch, console still in hand, a sleepy smile on her face.

Nancy sipped her third cup of coffee and blinked at her monitor like it owed her money. She was tired — definitely — but beneath the heavy eyelids and halfhearted keyboard taps, there was something unusual humming through her. Calm. Happy. Settled in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks. Her body might have been running on caffeine and the fading high of too much screen time, but her soul was floating in the afterglow of late-night Mario Kart and unexpected emotional rescue.

Mark breezed into her office, adorned with the usual tablet that seemed permanently attached at the wrist and the coffee cup that never seemed full or empty. He paused mid-stride, squinting at her with suspicion.

“You look suspiciously at peace,” he said, leaning on her mahogany lined desk. “Did you murder someone? Finally get that blood ritual to work?”

Nancy smirked. “Close. I got emotionally resuscitated via blue shells and banana peels.”

He blinked. “That is the most deranged sentence you’ve said this week.”

“It was a good night, despite the coup my doubts attempted,” she admitted with a little smile. “Ethan called in the nick of time. We ended up playing games for hours.”

Mark’s expression melted from sarcasm to gentle surprise. “Wait, he called? On purpose?”

“Yep. Out of nowhere.”

“And you didn’t ghost him afterward? I’m so proud.”

She snorted, then lowered her eyes to her desk. “Actually, I kind of had a panic spiral before that. One of those existential breakdowns where your brain throws every insecurity at you like dodgeballs.”

Mark’s face softened instantly. “Oh no. Do we need to schedule an emotional slap fight? You know I’ll volunteer.”

Nancy chuckled. “I’m okay now. But it got me thinking. About Ethan. And what I should even be doing. Should I keep seeing just him? Or… keep things casual? I do really like him. He’s uncomplicated and recently he seems to have an extremely calming effect on my nerves. It feels as easy as breathing.”

Mark leaned in slightly, setting his coffee down. “Nancy. Be honest. How many people did you talk to from that dating profile you agonized over?”

“…One,” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows. “One? You made a whole manifesto of romantic intentions and only messaged one dude?”

“I forgot to check it again!”

“Unacceptable. Hand over your phone. We are doing this now.”

With a resigned groan, she opened the app — and blinked.

“Oh wow,” she breathed. “I have, like… forty messages?”

Mark snatched the phone with zero hesitation. “Let’s see what the hopefuls of the internet have blessed us with today.”

They scrolled through the messages together. A few were sweet. Several were suspiciously well-lit photos of shirtless men with suspiciously vague bios. There was a message that just said “U up?” sent at 3:17 a.m., and one that asked if she’d be open to moving to a remote farm to start a goat-based wellness retreat.

Nancy laughed so hard she almost spilled her coffee. “This is insane.”

Mark handed the phone back. “It’s a buffet. You don’t have to eat everything, but you should at least see what’s on the menu.”

She nodded thoughtfully, still scrolling. “It’s just… I like Ethan. He makes me feel… safe.”

“And that’s beautiful,” Mark said. “But safe isn’t always right. You can’t know yet. You’ve barely test-driven the model.”

She gave him a suspicious side-eye. “Are you comparing Ethan to a car?”

“No,” he said, grinning. “Cars don’t ask you to mini-golf. But I am reminding you why you started this whole thing. You weren’t looking for a decent date. You were looking for Mr. Right.”

Nancy sighed. “Yeah, but how do I even know who that is?”

“You don’t. Not until you’ve done the emotional math and the physical chemistry test.”

She snorted. “You mean sleeping with him?”

Mark raised both eyebrows, his grin sharpening. “I mean, we don’t even know if Ethan’s the right guy until you try to sleep with him anyway… Ms. Giggles-a-Lot.”

Nancy groaned, face-palming. “Why are you like this?”

“Because someone has to lovingly bully you into emotional clarity.”

Nancy tossed her phone on the desk with a sigh. “You know what really sucks?”

“Unflavored gum. Low-rise jeans. People who say ‘irregardless.’”

She gave him a side glance. “Yes, but also — me. In bed. I’m... broken.”

Mark blinked. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Nancy pulled her chair closer to her desk and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m fine with kissing. Like — good, even. I can do the lip lock, the slow burn, the nibble-on-your-neck thing. I've been told I’m actually great at it.”

“As your unofficial HR liability and best friend, I love where this is going. Continue.”

“But anything past that?” she said, leaning in. “Disaster. Every time. I turn into… a damn cartoon character. My brain goes full Saturday morning special.”

Mark tilted his head. “Wait. Are we talking awkward laughter or, like, a sitcom laugh track starts playing in your head?”

“Full giggle fits. I start giggling at everything. Hands go places, and suddenly I’m like a preteen at a sleepover watching a makeout scene. I can’t stop myself.”

Mark took an official seat in one of the visitors chairs across from her, eyes wide with intrigue. “Define ‘everything.’”

Nancy groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “It gets worse. Like, one time? A guy went down on me—don’t give me that look—and when he looked up, I was… making a face.”

Mark’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of face?”

She peeked through her fingers. “I was doing cross-eyes. And bunny teeth.”

Mark exploded. “Nancy!”

“I know!” she cried, half-laughing, half-mortified. “It wasn’t even intentional! My body just—reacted! Like some kind of self-destruct system kicked in!”

Mark slammed back into the seat, wheezing. “That poor man.”

“He left, Mark. He walked out with his pants in one hand and his dignity in the other. I didn’t even get to explain. What would I have said? ‘Sorry for making a Looney Tunes face while you were impersonating The Slimer from Ghostbusters in my nether region? There’s no recovery from that!”

Mark wiped tears from his eyes. “You are a menace to romantic tension.”

Nancy slumped back in her chair. “It’s like… I don’t know. I want to be close. But the second it gets real, I sabotage it with silliness. Like I can’t handle being seen that way. It’s not that I don’t want to be sexy. I do. But sexy feels like I’m acting. Like I’m trying to play a role I don’t believe I deserve.”

Mark's laughter faded, replaced with something warmer in his eyes. “That’s not being broken. That’s being scared.”

She blinked at him.

“You’re funny because it’s your armor. You make them laugh before they can judge you. And when it gets quiet — really quiet — you panic and fill the space.”

Nancy’s throat felt tight. “So what do I do? Just… warn guys ahead of time that I’m a nervous cartoon rabbit in the sheets?”

Mark stood and straightened his hoodie like he was accepting an award. “I hereby volunteer to design you a business card: Nancy Thompson – Great at Kissing, May Spontaneously Giggle During Intimacy. Proceed at Your Own Risk.”

She laughed, wiping the corner of her eye. “Thanks. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Of course I do,” he said, with mock arrogance. “I’m practically your emotional seeing-eye dog. And hey, maybe Ethan likes weird. He did call you just to talk about food and let you crush him in Mario Kart.”

“Technically I only won half the races. We’re surprisingly evenly matched.”

“Still counts. If he can survive your banana peel diplomacy, he might be able to survive Sexy Bugs Bunny too.”