He grins. "How's Seth doing? Still panicking about tonight?"
"A little. He's very sweet when he's nervous."
"He's very sweet always," River corrects. "But yeah, dinner has him in knots. He texted the group chat three times this morning asking about tie colors."
I laugh despite myself. "What did you tell him?"
"That he'd look good in anything and to stop overthinking." River hands me a clipboard with inventory notes. "Same thing I'm telling you."
"I'm not overthinking."
"Bea. You've reorganized the plumbing display twice since lunch."
"It needed organizing."
"It was already organized." But his voice is gentle. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful, chaotic brain?"
I set the clipboard down with more force than necessary. "What if this is a mistake?"
His smile fades. "Do you think it's a mistake?"
"I don't know." The honesty feels raw. "Yesterday with Grayson was... it was amazing. And lunch with Seth was perfect. And you and I—" I gesture vaguely. "But together? All four of us? What if it's weird? What if we can't make it work?"
"Then we figure it out." River's voice is steady. Calm. "Bea, no one expects you to have all the answers tonight. We're just... having dinner. Getting to know each other as a group instead of just pairs."
"But everyone will see."
"Good." He reaches out, tucking hair behind my ear. "Let them see. I'm not ashamed of wanting you. None of us are."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then we'll unmess it." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "You keep acting like there's some perfect way to do this. There isn't. We're all making it up as we go."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest." He drops his hand but doesn't step back. "Look, I get it. This is scary. It's new. You've been burned before. But Bea—we're not him. We're not going to trap you or control you or make you choose between us and your dreams."
My throat feels tight. "How do you know that?"
"Because we've spent weeks watching you bloom at this job. Seeing you get excited about marketing strategies. Hearing you talk about starting your own business someday." His voice softens. "Why would we want to dim that light? That's the best part of you."
"River—"
"Seven o'clock," he says gently. "Bella Notte. We'll eat pasta, drink wine, probably make some awkward small talk. And then we'll see where it goes. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He presses a quick kiss to my forehead—tender and sweet—then heads back to help a customer.
And I'm left standing there, realizing that I don't want to run.
For the first time in a long time, I actually want to stay.
Chapter 16
Bea
I've changed outfits four times, and I'm currently standing in my childhood bedroom wearing nothing but my bra and the jeans I'm pretty sure I'm keeping, staring at my closet like it's personally betrayed me.
