The corners of my mouth twitch as I shrug, playing it cool even as heat builds between us.
“Okay, so what now?” I ask, nudging my plate aside.
Nolan leans back in his chair, studying me like he’s mapping out some private strategy. “Now I ask you intrusive questions, and you pretend not to be scared.”
A breeze stirs the napkins on the table, carrying the scent of sea salt and all the things fried and sweet.
I glance at him, caught somewhere between amusement and nerves. “Define ‘intrusive.’”
“Relax.” His grin is all easy trouble. “It’ll be a mildly invasive but well-intentioned interrogation.”
I arch a brow. “Is this the kind of interrogation that makes meovershare? Because, friendly reminder, we do have rules.”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure we shattered half of those by Day Two.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Youshattered them.”
He flashes a crooked smile. “I warned you.”
“You did.”
He lifts his foot onto my lounge chair and it brushes against mine, sending a spark up my leg.
“So?” Nolan’s voice drops a little, a dare threaded through the word. “You in?”
The air between us thickens with things we aren’t saying.
I match his grin. “Fine. Hit me.”
“Okay, he says,” “what’s something you never tell anyone?”
I surprise myself with how fast I answer. “I dream about running away sometimes. Not in a dramatic, torch-everything kind of way. Just… disappearing. Starting over.”
His eyes don’t flinch. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because I’d still be me wherever I went. And the thing I’m trying to escape isn’t a place—it’s me.”
Nolan doesn’t say anything for a beat, but his eyes never leave mine. He nods, accepting my response. “Okay. That was a big one. You’re brave.”
I scoff, but it means something that he said it. And I can tell he wants to dig into the previous question more, but instead he goes on to the next.
“Next,” he says. “Pizza or music—you can only keep one.”
I gasp. “Monster.”
“Answer the question,” he deadpans. “This could make or break everything between us.”
“Music. Obviously.”
His mouth falls open in exaggerated shock. “Blasphemy.”
“I can’t live without music,” I say, shrugging. “I’d be soulless.”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “Okay, next one. If you could be famous for something dumb, what would it be?”
I take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I want to invent the perfect way to reheat fries.” I swipe another one from his plate. “Still crisp, no sogginess.”
“Queen behavior. I respect it.”
