The flicker.
The warmth.
Anything.
Nothing happens.
Which is irritating. And confusing. And maybe a little insulting.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Matt asks.
A drink sounds harmless. A drink is just a drink. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.
Right?
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m pacing myself. The alcohol’s definitely…alcoholing.”
“Smart,” he says. “I’m doing the opposite.”
I laugh, mostly because it feels like the right response.
He brings me a beer. We make small talk, nothing wrong, nothing memorable. Work. Weather. The chaos of the place.
I keep half an eye on the room anyway.
When I mention New York, how I got into Columbia for my master’s degree in biomedical engineering, his smile falters just a fraction.
“Oh,” he says. “That’s…impressive.”
“Thanks.”
A few beats later, he checks his phone.
“Hey,” he says easily, already stepping back. “Nice meeting you, Gracie. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”
“You too,” I say, genuinely relieved.
As he disappears into the crowd, my gaze immediately betrays me, sweeping the room again.
Kirsten reappears like she’s been waiting for the verdict. “So?”
I tip my head side to side. “Nice guy. Zero sparks.”
“Really?”
“Like trying to light a candle with a wet match,” I say.
She laughs. “Ouch.”
After that it all blurs. Faces I won’t remember. Conversations that never quite start.
My attention keeps snagging elsewhere.
On the dance floor. On whether Trish is still laughing that hard, but I can’t find her…or Beck.Did they leave together?No. I push that thought aside along with the queasy feeling it gives me. Beck’s never left without a good-bye.
An hour later, I meander over to Kirsten, who stands near the dart boards and pool tables. The man she was talking to turns and leaves just as I walk up.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “Didn’t mean to scare him away.”
