“Three?” Joey’s voice cracked.
Luke corrected her quietly. “Four, if that’s okay.”
“Four it is.” Margo’s hand hovered near Stella’s shoulder, not quite touching. “Corner booth’s open. More private.”
They moved like shell-shocked survivors toward the booth. Meg caught snatches of whispered conversation starting up around them.
“—never said anything?—”
“—looks just like him?—”
“—sixteen years?—”
Tyler slid into the booth first, Stella beside him with enough space between them to fit another person. Meg took the opposite bench with Luke, feeling like she was acting in a play she hadn’t rehearsed for.
“So,” Margo stood at the end of their table, order pad in hand like armor. “Drinks?”
“Coffee,” Tyler said automatically.
“Coke,” Stella said. Then, quieter, “Please.”
“Water,” Meg managed.
“Beer,” Luke said, then caught himself. “Iced tea. Sorry.”
Margo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. “Coming right up.”
She left them in their bubble of awkward silence. Around them, the café slowly returned to normal volume, though Meg could feel the weight of curious glances.
“That went well,” Stella said flatly.
Tyler dropped his head into his hands. “Stella, please.”
“What? I’m just saying. Real smooth introduction. ‘Hey everyone, here’s the kid I never mentioned.’ Super normal.”
“You’re right,” Tyler said, muffled by his palms. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”
Stella shifted, clearly not expecting the apology. “Whatever.”
Joey appeared with their drinks, setting them down with exaggerated care. He kept shooting glances at Stella like she might evaporate.
“Thanks, Joey,” Tyler said.
“No problem. No problem at all. Just, you know. Drinks. For Tyler. And his...” Joey swallowed audibly. “Daughter?”
“That’s the rumor,” Stella said.
Joey fled.
“You don’t have to be hostile to everyone,” Tylersaid quietly.
“I’m not hostile. I’m Australian. We’re direct.”
“You’re half American.”
“The worst half, clearly.”
Luke made a sound that might have been a laugh converted to a cough. Stella’s eyes flicked to him, assessing.
