“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on him.
A small smile touches his lips, so tiny I almost don’t catch it. “I always liked watching you eat,” he says quietly.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Your whole face changes.”
I stare at him. “It does not.”
A low laugh spills out of his mouth, and my focus homes in on the sound. “It does,” he says. “When you enjoy something—or when you don’t—it’s written all over your face. It’s one of . . . uh . . .” He scratches the back of his head, eyes dipping down to his lap as he hesitates.
“What?” I press.
He looks at me again. “It’s one of the few real glimpses I think I ever actually had at your feelings.”
The words squeeze uncomfortably, like a vise around my ribs. Kasey was one of very few people in the world I trusted with my feelings. Doesn’t he remember? “Kasey?—”
“Two vanilla milkshakes,” our server announces, eyeing Kasey warily as he sets down a pair of frozen glasses. They’re filled to the brim with the frothy dessert, mounds of whipped cream sitting atop each one, covered in rainbow sprinkles and at least half a dozen maraschino cherries.
“Thank you,” I tell him before he disappears again.
Kasey pushes one of the milkshakes my way before pulling the other toward him. I find the straw with my lips and take adeep gulp. “We should probably discuss plans for a . . . wedding,” he says, frowning.
I laugh, pointing at his face. “Every girl’s dream is to seethatexpression when discussing her dream wedding.”
He snorts. “Ava, come on.Dreamwedding?”
My shoulders rise to my ears as I suck down more of my shake. It’s . . . delicious. A perfectly sweet pairing to the savory pizza. “We might as well have fun with it.”
“I don’t find any of this fun,” he mutters.
I roll my eyes. “Fine, you grump. We’ll go see Pastor Brown and find out what we need to do to get married in the church. And for a reception . . .” I trail off, thinking. “Maybe we can host it at Wild Coyote?”
“Fine,” he concedes. “Nothing fancy though. Just the bar and what comes with it.”
“Fine,” I agree. “Basically the dream, anyway.”
He cocks a brow. “A dive bar with sticky floors and mean-as-hell regulars?”
“Literally what I have written in a diary somewhere.”
“Liar,” he says around a gulp of his milkshake.
“You don’t know!”
Dark brown eyes trace over my face. I watch his throat work to swallow down the sip he just took. “You wanted a party on the beach.”
I blink as the memory snares me: whispering that exact wish to him as we lay curled around each other in the bed of his parked truck, gazing out into the dark ocean blanketed by stars. I remember thinking marrying him was everything I’d ever want, not knowing how painfully fear would crack through me when it all became real.
I don’t like this feeling, that he still knows me so well.
“Maybe in another life” is all I can say now. I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes trained on a black-and-white team photoof the Mustangs football team from decades ago hanging on the far wall.
“Hm,” he hums. We finish the rest of our slices in silence, and Kasey waves down the nervous server to ask for a to-go box for the rest of the pizza, offering the box to me once it’s packed.
“You keep it,” I say. “Take it to your nephews.”
He pulls it back. “Sure.”
