Spencer scrutinizes Wes. “But you love watching people fall.” He refocuses on me, explaining, “Videos of people slipping at water parks or falling off their front porch are his favorite content.”
“You’re making me sound like a psychopath.”
Spencer grins. “It is a little fucked up.”
Wes holds up a hand. “For the record, I don’t like people getting hurt. But do I like seeing someone fall out of their chair sometimes? Sure.”
I don’t admit that my dark sense of humor enjoys those videos, too. Bonding with my parking lot terrorist is not on the agenda for today.
Spencer shakes his head. “We’re going to grab a table.”
He guides Thea by the shoulder toward the back of the room. I step forward, taking their place in front of the register.
“You’re laying it on too thick with Spencer,” Wes mutters from beside me.
“You have your methods, and I have mine,” I mutter back, then place my order.
My food comes out moments after Wes finishes placing his order. I take the tray and immediately head over to the corner table Spencer and Thea commandeered, needing a break from Wes’s presence. I take a seat beside Thea and across from Spencer, as far from Wes as I’ll manage at a four-seat table.
“Did you get the cookie sandwich?” Thea asks. She locks her phone and puts it on the table face down.
“As if I could turn down a recommendation for the best cookie ever.”
She unpacks the cookie quickly and shoves it into her mouth, taking a large bite. “So good,” she mumbles.
“I’ve never been here before,” I say.
“It’s not your scene,” Wes chips in from behind me, startling me again. He needs to stop catching me off guard. I focus on my grilled cheese sandwich to keep my traitorous eyes from straying to him.
“Why, because I’m a Covington?”
Wes takes his seat, diagonal from me, and gives me a sidelong look. “Am I wrong?”
I wish I could say he was, but my parents never brought us to an establishment like this. They preferred their meals with a side of pretentiousness. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about me, Wes.”
“Your life has been a lot different than ours,” he says, gesturing to Spencer beside him.
I hate when people judge me based on my family. I didn’t choose them, or their lifestyle, and have done my best to distance myself from it since I became an adult.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t taken a dime of my parents’ money since I was in college. And when I divorced my husband, I didn’t take anything from him either—only what I had when we married.”
“Let’s not—” Spencer starts, but I cut him off when I see a group of men enter the café in the mirror behind Wes and Spencer.
“Shit.” I duck beneath the table and say a silent prayer that neither my ex-husband nor my father spotted me.
Wes
Isla darts underneath the table after a group of men in crisp business suits walks into the restaurant.
“What are you doing?” Thea asks, looking beneath the table, not playing it cool at all.
Isla makes a hushing sound. “Pretend I’m not here. Talk normally.”
“You want us to tell you when they’re gone?” I ask, keeping my voice low and turning toward Spence so anyone looking our way wouldn’t think twice.
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
It takes about ten minutes for the businessmen to order at the counter and for their food to be brought out, but it’s not in to-go containers. They settle into the table at the window, where sunshine comes through the glass, all traces of the rainstorm long gone.
