“We’re just friends,” I corrected.
“Of course.” Hendrix rolled his eyes. “You’re my age. I didn’t mean romantic matchmaking. Just friend matchmaking.”
“That’s not a real thing,” Miles told him, but Hendrix looked like he didn’t believe it.
“Could be now,” Grayson suggested.
Marzena made her way to the table, a tray of pierogi and caramelized onions ready for us to snack on.
“Do we not get menus?” I asked, enjoying the smell of the dumplings, but curious about what the rest of the night was going to hold.
“I’ve been coming here my whole life,” Miles said. “We kind of trust her to just feed us.”
“And never stop.” She smiled fondly at him before heading back into the kitchen.
“This place is really something.” I looked around at the bright colors and the mismatched picture frames all over the walls. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”
“It’s a hidden treasure, for sure.”
There was a brief lull while we all began to eat the pierogi, and about three bites in, Wesley finally started to relax. He pressed the outside of his thigh against mine, the tip of his shoe dragging against my foot. When his hand went below the table, it landed half on his knee and half on me. They were soft and secret touches, meant only for us even though Grayson could have seen them if he’d looked over. Which he didn’t. The man did an impressive job of keeping his attention focused on Hendrix and Miles.
Plausible deniability, I supposed.
Although it was far too late for that.
Eventually, Hendrix spoke up.
“So, Wes.”
Wesley glanced up. “Yep.”
“Any luck finding a job?”
The dull lines of his nails dug into my knee, pressing through the thick denim of my jeans. “I haven’t looked yet.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t need to.” It sounded like a lie, but we weren’t in a place where we’d talked about money yet. I didn’t know what his financial situation was. It was hardly my business.
“But you will eventually.”
“I will when I need to, Henny. Thanks for your concern.” The abbreviation of Hendrix’s name sounded like acid, and I wondered how he didn’t recoil from the sharp sting of it. But Hendrix was unfazed, carrying on with all the paternal affection he carried for his only brother.
“Have you talked to David?”
“If you were trying to change the topic because you picked up on”—he waved his hand in front of his face, expression pulling into a scowl—“this mood change, David wasn’t the right way to go.”
“Is that a no?”
Wesley grunted and flicked his attention to Miles. “I thought you were going to talk to him.”
“I did.”
“Did what?” Hendrix looked at Miles too.
“I told you that you need to ease up on your brother.”
“I’m just looking out for him,” Hendrix protested.
