He digs into his own portion without missing a beat. “So start climbing.”
Naomi huffs and reaches over to scoop some of her stir-fry and rice into his already overloaded bowl. “Fine. But if I slip into a food coma, I’m blaming you.”
He doesn’t look up. “I’ll carry you to bed.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers.
As they eat, the clink of chopsticks and hum of summer air fill the space. Naomi finds herself watching him between bites—the way his jaw flexes when he chews, how his lashes fan across his cheek when he focuses on his bowl. His thigh brushes hers under the table, warm and steady.
Everything about him still stuns her a little.
That he’s here. In her space. In her life.
She clears her throat. “How was training today?”
“Plyos this morning,” he says between bites. “Visual drills this afternoon. Little bit of film.”
“Visual drills?”
“Reaction timing. Peripheral pattern recognition. I had to wear these blackout goggles and catch tennis balls with my non-dominant hand.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “God, you’re such a freak.”
He shrugs as if it’s a compliment. “Gotta stay sharp.”
“Well, you look sharp,” she says, bumping her knee into his under the table.
Garrett makes a low noise that might be agreement—or amusement—without looking up from his bowl.
Naomi twirls her chopsticks, trying to sound casual. “So…Friday. Theo’s in town to see Mila. They asked if we want to grab dinner with them.”
Garrett finally lifts his eyes, looking at her like she suggested he lick a subway pole. “Dinner out? On purpose?”
“Yes, on purpose,” she says, nudging his foot. “You like Theo.”
Garrett snorts. “I tolerate Tilly because he doesn’t talk much and he’s terrible at Mario Kart.”
“He lets you win.”
Garrett pauses. “I will neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
He leans back in his chair, groaning. “I’d rather stay in and eat you for dinner.”
She promptly chokes.
“And they say romance is dead,” she coughs, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
He smirks, completely unrepentant.
She tries for breezy. It comes out breathless. “Be good for two hours, and I’ll let you be very bad after.”
He spears another bite of stir-fry, but there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth now. “Fine. We’ll go.”
She beams.
They finish dinner in the easy rhythm they’ve fallen into over the past two weeks, chopsticks clinking gently, laughter slipping in between mouthfuls. Garrett takes her empty bowl with a brush of fingers against hers, and Naomi rises automatically to clear the rest.
