“Be nice,” she says, mock pouting. “Anyway, I came to warn you.”
“About?”
“Crew.”
My stomach tightens. “What about him?”
She lowers her sunglasses dramatically. “He’s in a mood.”
“What kind of mood?”
“The kind where he’s smiling too much. He only smiles like that when he’s trying to hide something.”
I fold my arms. “And you’re telling me because?”
“Because I like you,” she says. “And because Lila says you’re pretending not to be in love with him, which is adorable but tragic.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Sure,” she says. “And I didn’t write a breakup album about my mother.”
“Valid.”
She grins. “Anyway, if you two kiss tonight, I called it first.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone—all sunshine and chaos, leaving me standing there wondering how one personcan be both a friend and a human pop-up ad for emotional vulnerability.
Afternoon drifts by in a haze of caramel, conversation, and exhaustion.
Crew shows up again with Sawyer and Rowan, both sweaty and smug from building something tall and dangerous-looking near the bandstand.
“Need help here?” he asks.
“I’m good.”
He ignores that and crouches beside me, picking up a box of books.
I glare. “You can’t help everything.”
He smirks. “You’re welcome to test that theory.”
“Crew.”
He glances up. “Yeah?”
“Don’t.”
He tilts his head. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something you want.”
He breathes, slow, careful. “That’s because you are.”
My chest tightens. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
