“Don’t sound so pleased about it,” Ciarán shoots back, a saccharine smile lighting up his face.
Abbie hides a laugh behind her hand. “Boys, play nice. At least until the mimosas arrive.”
Their voices rise around me, their banter familiar. I go to sit, hesitating too long, then panic that I’m in the way. Noah makes it easy—he sits first, leaving the chair beside him open for me. The simple tap of his hand against the cushion makes something loosen in my chest. An awkward laugh comes out of me, but I sit, shoulders still pulled high.
When a server brushes too close behind me, I tense. Noah leans slightly toward me and places his arm on the back of my chair—not touching me, just… there. It helps more than I want to admit. It makes me feel like there’s a barrier of protection between me and everything else. I have the urge to lean into him, let his arm fall around me, and keep me safe.
I glance at him, and he gives me nothing but quiet stability in return. I relax a little in my seat. My smile comes without asking, small and private, just for him. He gives me a subtle wink, and my cheeks warm.
Lou swings by with menus, rattling off drink specials. Noah orders one, and when the glass arrives—bright orange with some ridiculous curl of zest balanced on the rim—he nudges it toward me as one side of his mouth quirks up. Did he order it for me? I take a sip and hum despite myself. Sweet, floral,strong.
Abbie launches into gossip about her roommates. Ciarán interrupts with commentary, and Aiden sighs into his glass like he’s been trapped here against his will.
I want to join in, but half my brain is waiting for someone in the diner to turn and stare. To notice the scar. To ask questions I won’t be able to answer.
Abbie looks at something on her phone and gasps, “Oh my god! Velour just posted on Instagram, listen to this:‘The lights dim. The bass hits. The dance floor opens. Join us every Friday night at Velour for live music, low lights, and heat that lingers long after last call.’A dance floor! In Willowrun!” She’s practically vibrating in her seat, eyes darting from me to Ciarán, and my stomach drops. Dancing. Of course they’ll want to go. I can’t do that. I can’t be in a place like that, low lights, loud music, people everywhere.
I want to dance. I want to go, and I think if they asked me I’d say yes… and then ruin it for them.
“Isn’t Velour a wine bar?” Noah asks as he reads over the menu.
“Yeah, but it’s pretty big, so they’d have the space for a dance floor if they move tables around. I can’t wait!” Abbie squeaks.
I see the spark of excitement in Ciarán’s eyes, but it dims a little as he looks at me, and I have to drop my gaze. When he speaks, his tone is level. “That’s amazing. I’m sure it’ll be popular.”
I expect him to say we should go, but he doesn’t. When I look at him, he’s giving me that soft smile, the one he saves for me. Right now, it just makes me feel guilty.
“Do you guys like to dance?” Noah questions, looking at me immediately. I nod and try to smile, but it’s tight.
“Oh yeah,” Abbie squeals, “we’re pretty good, if I do say so myself.” She finishes by buffing her nails on her chest, making Aiden snort.
“Thanks to me,” Ciarán says with a look of pride.
Thankfully, they leave it at that as Abbie starts telling a story about one of her students standing on a desk to declare their undying hatred for homework. Ciarán laughs. “Sounds like an enthusiastic kid.”
“Sounds like detention,” Aiden says.
Ciarán turns to him, brows lifting. “Do you ever stop being the fun police?”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Aiden fires back without looking up.
Abbie groans. “Please, not at brunch.”
Aiden doesn’t look up from his drink. “He started it.”
“Real mature. Ispoke,” Ciarán replies flatly. “That’s all it takes with you.”
“Now, now, boys,” Noah interjects in a mock-serious tone I haven’t heard from him before.
Abbie tries not to laugh, eyes locked on mine as I bite back a grin. The teasing is so familiar, it’s something I can almost fall into. Still, a part of me wishes they’d stop circling each other like this. Aiden and Ciarán could get along if they tried—they just refuse to now. I’ve learned not to step in, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sit in a room with them both and not have to hear them bicker or see Ciarán leave when he’s not in the mood for my brother.
Lou passes by to check on drinks, and Ciarán eyes Aiden’s glass. “Let me guess—water again.”
Aiden shrugs. “Keeps me hydrated.”
Ciarán mutters. “Keeps you boring. We’re atboozybrunch, maybe a drink would help you lighten up and stop being such a grump.”
“I’m not fucking boring,” my brother grumbles.
