I’m not watching him.
Except I absolutely am.
When he ends the call and comes back, he slides into his chair with that same controlled efficiency, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just shift the temperature of the entire table.
Coco leans back in her chair, cradling her wine glass. “Everything all right, honey?”
His gaze flicks to me before it goes to her. Quick and assessing, like a thumb dragged along the edge of my spine.
“Yeah,” Bishop says. “Just a guy about something.”
Coco nods, satisfied in that way that tells me she understands far more than she’s saying. “We’ll talk later.”
My stomach dips, sharp and unwelcome. The roast suddenly feels heavier in my mouth, like I swallowed something I shouldn’t have.
Gage barrels straight through the tension, launching into a story about some guy at the gym dropping a barbell on his foot and trying to laugh it off. Cruz interrupts within seconds to embellish it—adds blood, drama, a near-death experience. Rafecuts in dryly, correcting them both without even looking up.Coco tells them all to eat before the food gets cold.
The table finds its rhythm again.
I sit back and let it wash over me. The bickering, the overlapping voices, the scrape of forks against ceramic, the string lights swaying gently overhead. They talk about tide shifts and blown-out breaks, about how the south swell’s been inconsistent and which beaches are still holding shape at dusk.
“You still surf, Bell?” Gage asks, spooning another helping of potatoes onto his plate.
“Sometimes,” I say. It’s true enough.
Gage nods, the side of his lips twitching like he’s swallowing a smile. “We’re heading out Wednesday morning. Tide should be decent. Low wind, if the forecast holds. You should come with us.”
My chest tightens in a way I don’t examine too closely. “I’ll think about it.”
Rafe shifts in his chair, spreading his legs just enough that his knee comes to rest against mine beneath the table. Bare skin against denim. He doesn’t look at me or move away.
Neither do I. Not when every nerve in my leg lights up at the touch.
Cruz’s gaze slides my way, like he can see through the table and whatever the fuck is going on here. Gage doesn’t let his attention waver from me. Almost like he’s afraid if he’s not looking at me, I’ll disappear.
And through all of it, I can feel Bishop. Silent and steady to my left. The awareness presses warm and unsettling against the side of my face, like standing too close to a fire I didn’t mean to light. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. My body already knows exactly where he is.
The conversation is easy. Familiar and familial in a way that should feel good.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like a lie.
I set my fork on my half-eaten plate and pull my knee from Rafe, straightening in my seat.
Coco clocks it immediately. She pushes her chair back and rises smoothly. “All right,” she says, already gathering plates. “Dessert time.” She nudges the sliding door open with her hip. “Bellamy, honey, come help me.”
Relief and nerves twist together in my chest as I stand. Whatever recalibration I was trying to do, it’ll have to wait.
Dinner isn’t over yet.
10
BELLAMY
Coco doesn’t waitfor an answer. She sweeps inside, the hem of her soft linen dress brushing across the tile like a whisper.
I follow, because what else am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can turn tail and start running.
