I pulled out my phone and opened my camera.
The view was ridiculous. Skyline, glass, gold light, the whole city looking like it had dressed up for someone else’s dream.
I took the picture.
For a moment I considered posting it. Not because I usually posted much. I didn’t. But because there was something neat about closing loops, even privately.
I typed a caption.
They laughed at the hoodie. Now I own the roof.
I stared at the words, smiled once, and locked the phone without posting.
Some victories are sweeter when they remain your own.
Then I went downstairs.
I found Ivy near one of the long windows speaking with Michelle. She looked up when I approached, uncertainty flashing across her face for the briefest second before I nodded.
She smiled back.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing staged. No speeches. No apologies in front of a crowd.
Just recognition.
Later that night, after most of the guests had gone and the staff was clearing glasses, I stood at the edge of the rooftop again. Ivy came to stand beside me.
“You know,” she said, “I still think about that hoodie.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” She laughed softly. “At the time I thought it was embarrassing.”
“And now?”
She looked out over the city. “Now I think it was probably the most honest thing in the entire vineyard.”
