The barista laughed. “It is.”
“I’ll need that. For science.”
“You’re a disgrace,” I said, then looked at the barista. “Cold brew and a butter cookie.”
“Only one?” Pack sounded shocked. “Playoffs are coming. Don’t you need comfort food?”
“We cope differently,” I said.
We claimed a table in the back corner, away from the windows. Before I took a sip of coffee, Pack was halfway through his croissant.
“You’ve got powdered sugar on your cheek,” I said.
He wiped the wrong one.
“Other cheek.”
He swiped his forehead.
Laughing, I leaned across and brushed the sugar away with my thumb. He froze, his eyes scanning the room.
We were good at being us. Laughing was part of that, and so was touching, as long as we weren’t in public. This was why the question I was burning to ask felt so dangerous.
He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Too sweet.”
“You always say that, and then you order it again the next time.”
He nudged my foot under the table. “Yet you like me anyway.”
“Yes, I do. A lot.”
He smiled into his cup, but the skin around his eyes tightened. When he raised his head, his expression was the same as that morning in Miami. He cleared his throat. “After the playoffs, I…” A cough this time. “I want to talk then.”
My pulse skipped a beat. This was supposed to be a date night, one last normal moment before we disappeared into the playoff wars. But he’d opened the door himself, and I wasn’t about to ignore it.
Before I could lose my nerve, I set my coffee down. “Pack, can I ask you something?”
His fingers tightened around his cup. “That sounds serious.”
“It’s not.” My voice was shaky. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
“Nix, if this is about me moving?—”
“Not moving.”
He nodded and sat very still.
I focused on the table. “Playoffs always suck, but this year will be worse because I’ll miss you so much. We’ve barely seen each other these last few weeks, and when we did, it was rushed.” I took a breath and looked up. “It’s made me think about the future, wonder what things will look like when the distance doesn’t control what we can do.”
He held his coffee halfway between us. “Okay.”
“I’m not asking for answers that can’t be changed, but I can’t help wondering where we’re headed.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He stared at the wall behind me, then glanced at the window before meeting my eyes.
“Pack?”
He smiled, but it was the fake one he used with fans when he didn’t want to be bothered. “We should focus on the next few weeks, right? One thing at a time.”
