Dan didn’t even turn his head. “Honestly thought Gid would hold out for a place that served espresso dusted in gold leaf.”
Arden dropped into the seat across from Penny and snatched a menu like it owed her back pay for emotional labor. “No gold. Just caffeine and poor life choices.”
Penny gasped in mock horror. “Who are you? First trivia night, now brunch? You’re practically domesticated.”
Arden gave her a look. “I can still ruin things.”
Dan took a sip without glancing over. “She’s out of practice.”
“Daniel,” Penny said sweetly, without missing a beat, “you’re living proof that some people can ruin brunch just by showing up.”
“Penelope,” he replied dryly, “I live to serve.”
Gideon took the seat beside Arden, setting his phone face-down on the table. “You two are unbearable.”
Penny batted her lashes. “But you showed up.”
Dan raised his mug. “For Arden. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Penny echoed, sipping with mock elegance.
Arden hid her grin behind the menu. Their chaos was weirdly comforting. And being here, just the four of them, felt oddly easy. Like she didn’t have to brace for impact every second.
Penny pointed her straw at Gideon. “Alright, Mr. Grumble-and-Go. What’s your order? Please say something absurd.”
Gideon didn’t blink. “Black coffee. Eggs. Bacon.”
Dan groaned, throwing his head back. “Called it. Blackwell Special: sadness and cholesterol.”
“No soufflé? No twelve-dollar truffle toast?” Penny mocked.
“You’re all exhausting,” Gideon muttered.
Dan leaned in, mock-concerned. “Come on, man. Do you even remember how to have fun, or did you have that surgically removed?”
Arden sipped her coffee, fighting a grin. “He knows. He just likes to sufferartistically.”
Gideon cut her a sideways glance, something quiet and wicked flickering there. “So I’m that easy to read now?”
She smiled against the rim of her cup. “Only when you’re trying not to smile.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile creeping in. Maybe it was the banter. Or it was the rare ease of it all—simply being here, no armor, no angle. Something tight stirred in her chest.
Dan raised his mug. “To suffering.”
Penny clinked hers. “And the ones who weirdly enjoy it.”
Gideon reached for his cup. As his fingers brushed hers beneath the table, quick and intentional—it sent a pulse of warmth through her she hadn’t expected but didn’t resist.
She didn’t pull away.
She let it stay.
And Arden believed this could be real.
Something steady.
Something that didn’t vanish in the morning light.
