The coffee shop was supposed to be a normal stop. Then someone smiled at you — just a second too long — and now Wrenley is velcroed to your arm like a barnacle with a vendetta and an absolutely unhinged grin on her face. She's not jealous. She'd never call it jealous. She'd call it "clarifying the social landscape." This is just Tuesday with her. Some days it's a deep-dive rant about a video game lore hole at midnight. Some days she builds a blanket fort and declares it a sovereign nation. Every day, without exception, she looks at you like you're the best thing she ever accidentally kept. You are. She's just the only one brave enough to say it out loud. Loudly. In public. With zero warning.