She wrinkles her nose, reaching across the table to fork a mouthful of the brownie we’re splitting. After the horror of venue shopping, we deserve it.
“I have a… thing. It’s not for another hour though,” she says.
I lean in, lifting an eyebrow. “A thing?”
A thought strikes me: what if thatthingis a date?
I know Bess has been pushing her to get back out there, but Molly hasn’t given any indication she’s ready.
Still… what if?
She huffs, blowing hair away from her face. “A thing.”
“Does this… thing have a name?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
Her mouth quirks up, her eyes sparkling. “It’s not that kind of thing.”
“Is it a family or charity thing?”
“No, not that,” she says, now smiling.
I tap my fingers against the table. “Let’s see, it’s not a person, it’s not an event, that leaves…” I lean in, waiting for her to meet me halfway. “A speed dating event.”
She blinks once, then throws herself back, roaring with laughter. Her hand comes up, finger pointing at me as she shakes her head. “You knew!”
I grin, neither confirming nor denying.
“Oh God,” she groans, throwing an arm over her eyes dramatically. “If you know, that means Sam knows.”
“Your secret is safe with me,Pahe.”
She drops her arm, tilting her head slightly. She’s done that since she was thirteen—when she’s curious or unsure. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, standing abruptly. I pull a few notes from my pocket, dropping them on the table. “Come on, you’re going to be late.”
“I have an hour!” she protests, but she lets me pull her up.
“You’re wearing a turtleneck and jeans.” I help her shrug into her coat. “While I have no issues with this and think you lookmilhika, you’re speed dating. Your knight could be waiting.”
I ignore the voice in my head yelling at me to sweep her up and lock her away in a tower.
She grumbles, slipping her hand into mine as we exit the café. “My knight shouldn’t care what I wear.”
I throw her a grin. “And he won’t. Once he gets to know you. Haven’t you ever watched a rom-com?”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’re romance crazy.”
“Probably.”
“Did you start writing?”
I like the way her hand fits in mine. Her fingers are cool, soft, but a little callused. They fit perfectly in my own.
“Josh?”
“Hmm?”
“Writing. Did you start a script?”
