She felt his pride. It lived in the way he leaned in just a little, how his eyes held hers. Like she’d done something remarkable, but then he’d always expected her to.
“I know I won’t get to do it,” she said, taking a sip, chewing on the tapioca pearls. “But it feels nice to be nominated.”
It wasn’t just a nomination. It was proof. That she wasn’t orbiting someone else’s future—she was building her own.
The bell over the door jingled.
“Bea!”
She turned.
Nico jogged up, all long limbs and hoodie sleeves half pushed up his forearms. His hair was still damp from a swim or a shower. A little breathless, but grinning.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not unhappy to see him.
“I just met El Jefe for a bit, then saw you in the window.” He looked at Gage and stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Nico.”
Gage rose to shake it. “Gage King.”
“I thought so. She’s told me a lot about you.”
Both men sat down, one on either side of her.
“Do tell,” Gage said, mildly amused.
“She said you don’t drink coffee unless it’s served with a capital gain,” Nico said, clearly delighted to spill. “And that your eyebrows twitch when people talk during previews at the cinema.”
“Sounds like you’ve been well informed,” Gage observed, glancing at Bea.
“You remember when she went away for the summer?” Nico added, tone shifting like this was man-to-man now. “I warned her about that one. That you wouldn’t like it.”
“I appreciate that.”
Something in the way Gage looked at him changed, oh-so-subtle, but it was there. Like Nico had just leveled up without realizing it.
“Do you want one?” Gage asked Nico, nodding to Bea’s drink.
“Yeah, I love them.”
Gage went to order for him.
“You didn’t get me a birthday present,” Nico accused, turning his brown eyes to Bea.
She scoffed. “You didn’t invite me to your party.”
“It was at a paintball range. You would’ve cried.”
She considered that, sipping. “Probably true.”
“See, I knew it. Girls don’t have the pain tolerance for paintball.”
She pointed the drink at him, straw and all. “Don’t make me explain childbirth, Nico.”
He made a face. “Please don’t. I’d rather do math.”
Bea laughed. “I’ll bring your present at tutoring next week.”
“Snacks?” He lit up.
