He stares at me for a beat. “It’s Silas, isn’t it?”
I groan. “How do you even?—”
“You only act this crazy when it’s him.”
Fair.
Will emerges from their room next, shirt inside out, yawning so hard his jaw cracks. “Is this a fashion crisis or a mental breakdown?”
“Both,” Ty and I say in unison.
Will squints. “Are we doing brunch?”
“I’m doing brunch,” I clarify, pointing at myself and spinning in a slow circle. “With someone. At a place. In, like, forty minutes.”
Ty unlocks his phone and checks the time. “You’re gonna be late.”
I look at him like he’s kicked a puppy. “Don’t put that energy into the universe.”
“Then stop spinning like a panic tornado andgo,” Will says from the other room. When I reappear, he tosses a granola bar at me. “Take this. You’ll need something to hold you over until the coffee.”
I catch it and offer a grateful nod. “You guys are the best dysfunctional life coaches ever.”
“Go,” Ty says, waving me toward the door. “Wait! Don’t forget deodorant.”
I skid back to the bathroom.
“Brush your teeth!” Will calls after me. “You always forget when you’re excited!”
“I DO NOT?—”
I totally do.
By the time I’m dressed, groomed, and out the door, I’ve broken a sweat and reapplied my cologne and deodorant. But somehow, I’m exactly on time.
I spot Silas through the window. He’s at a booth near the back, a menu in his grip, brow furrowed as if he’s trying to look busy and not like he’s scanning the door every ten seconds.
My heart feels like it’s going to launch out of my mouth and hand itself over to him on a silver platter.
Yeah, we aren’t doing that. We are healed. We don’t need a man.
I push into the café, drawing in a steadying breath as the bell overhead chimes.But we might want one,that little traitorous voice whispers.
Silas looks up, eyes locking with mine. There’s a flicker—relief, maybe nerves. Something that twists in my chest in a way I’m definitely not ready to unpack.
I slide into the booth across from him, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he echoes, setting the menu down as though it was just a prop anyway.
Silence stretches a little too long. I glance around for a distraction, then point to his coffee mug. “That mine?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Nope. Yours is still on the way. But Ididorder you something.”
I raise a brow. “Tequila?”
“It’s ten a.m., Luke.”
“Is that a no?”
