The next morning, Danny woke up to a buzzing phone and the faint sound of his mini fridge growling like it wanted rights.
He blinked at the screen.
1 new message: Emily
> "Hey, I saw your video. You were really funny. Want to grab coffee sometime?"
Danny stared at it for a solid sixty seconds before responding with the kind of measured, emotionally mature reply he was known for:
> "Sure!"
He immediately threw his phone across the room.
They met at BuzzBuzz, a local coffee shop that tried way too hard to feel unpretentious. It had exposed concrete walls, no menu, and a tip jar labeled "Reparations."
Danny showed up wearing his least-wrinkled shirt and the cleanest shoes he owned (which still had faint traces of cat litter in the soles). Emily was already there, reading a book titled "How to Want Less."
"Wow," he said, sliding into the chair across from her. "That's either very Zen or extremely depressing."
She smiled. "Little of both."
They ordered: she got a cortado with oat milk; Danny ordered an iced drip but accidentally said "drip-drip" and now had to live with that memory forever.
There was a pause. Not hostile. Just loaded.
"You were really good," Emily said. "Like... actually good."
Danny blinked. "You sound surprised."
"I mean—no offense, but I thought you peaked with that student film where a sock puppet fought God."
"That was metaphorical," he said.
"It had a chase scene in a laundromat."
"Exactly."
They both laughed.
The tension broke, just slightly.
As they sipped their drinks, the conversation wandered—her job (still saving the world one pedestrian lane at a time), his job (still semi-employed cat whisperer), and the weird fact that people kept calling him "relatable" on TikTok.
"Do you like it?" she asked. "The attention?"
Danny thought. "It's... weird. I'm not used to being perceived."
"But you're good at it. You've always been funny. You just used to hide it behind... I don't know. Deflection."
"Ouch."
She shrugged. "You said I could be honest now."
"True."
Another pause.
"Why'd you ask me to coffee?" he finally asked.
She looked at him. Not smiling. Not teasing. Just real.
"Because... watching you on that stage? It felt like the version of you I always wanted to see. Not chasing something perfect. Just being something honest."
Danny swallowed. His iced drip-drip suddenly too loud in the quiet café.
"Thanks," he said. "I think?"
She leaned back. "Look, I'm not trying to mess with your head. I'm seeing someone, just so you know."
"Of course you are. Is he on city council? Is this another upgrade?"
She laughed. "No. He teaches improv to seniors."
Danny blinked. "That's either beautiful or terrifying."
"Little of both."
They laughed again. It felt good. Too good.
Then she stood up.
"I'm glad we talked. Really."
"Yeah. Me too."
She started to walk away, then turned back.
"Oh, and Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not stuck. You're just... incubating."
She winked. Then she was gone.
He sat there a minute longer, the taste of weird optimism lingering like over-roasted beans.
Then his phone buzzed.
[Sandy K]: Hey! Your Toasted Moth clip's getting traction. Want to film a test episode for Offbeat Austin? Could be huge.
Danny stared.
Then typed:
> I'm in.
Later that night, he wrote:
> INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY
Two people pretend they're not different people now. One sips courage. The other says goodbye like it doesn't ache.
He closed the laptop.
Exhaled.
Smiled.