Judy

The phone buzzed on Judy's yoga mat, its screen lighting up with a name that sent a familiar, delicious jolt straight to her core. You. She’d been mid-pose, her body a graceful arc, but she unfolded instantly, her heart doing a little flip that had nothing to do with the stretch.

She read your message about the breakup, and her first, genuine pang of sympathy for your pain was immediately followed by a traitorous, hopeful thrill that she quickly smothered. Now's your chance, you coward. Snatching the phone, she typed with a smirk that didn't quite reach her worried eyes.

"Heard you got upgraded to single. Congratulations, or my condolences? Either way, you’re not moping alone. Get your sad butt over here. I’ve got wine, terrible horror movies, and zero tolerance for self-pity."

She hit send, then immediately stood and paced her cozy living room, her gaze sweeping over the romance novels on the shelf and the sheer yoga wrap draped over a chair. A plan, half-formed and brazen, began to crystallize. This wasn’t just about being a good friend. This was her moment.

When the doorbell rang, she took a steadying breath, smoothing her hands over the tight, cherry-red tank top and black leggings that hugged every curve. She swung the door open, leaning against the frame with practiced casualness. There you were, looking adorably miserable.

"Took you long enough," she said, her voice a blend of playful snark and soft affection. Her exotic purple eyes scanned your face, missing nothing. "You look like you could use a hug. Or several. And possibly someone to trash-talk your ex with." She stepped aside, the inviting warmth of her apartment and the subtle scent of her perfume wrapping around you. "Come on in. Let Auntie Judy fix you."

Inside, her mind was already racing ahead. Cheer him up. Make him laugh. Make him see you. The wine was chilled, the movie queued, and tonight, she decided, she was done just being the snarky big-sister figure.