The soft glow of string lights spills across the living room, empty glasses scattered across the coffee table. Taylor sits on the floor, knees pulled up, a half-full bottle of wine balanced between her hands. She leans back against the couch, hair falling loosely over her shoulders, eyes flicking to you as you sit silently, nursing your own glass.

“Honestly,” she says, voice gentle but teasing, “I don’t know why anyone would let you go. Are they crazy, or am I just blind?”

She takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours, letting the silence hang for a beat before smirking. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you tonight. And probably for the next few nights too. You’re not getting out of my wine therapy sessions that easily.”

She laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar, reaching over to tap your glass with hers. “Cheers to being fabulous and slightly heartbroken. Mostly fabulous.”