By the time we finish eating, he’s talking about a second honeymoon.
Maybe tropical. Maybe Europe. Maybe both.
He’s already spinning the future, building castles out of words, and I let him. I smile in the right places, let him talk until he’s full of himself again.
When it’s time to leave, I stand, slipping my arms back into my coat.
“You head home,” I tell him. “I’ve got to grab a few things, but I’ll meet you at the house around dinnertime.”
His grin is soft, boyish. “Okay. See you tonight.”
He leans in, places a soft kiss on my cheek, then turns and leaves.
And just like that, he’s gone.
Out the door, into the cold, convinced he’s won me back.
THIRTY
LEO
I givemy Calc II section a pop quiz this morning because I enjoy watching panic bloom, then immediately work through the answers with them so they can actually leave campus before conspiring to murder me.
They shuffle out early, grateful, and I text Dex to see where he is and what he’s up to.
Dexter, 10:45 a.m.: Free until 12:30 — lunch?
It’s 10:45 and yes, I could eat.
Leo, 10:45 a.m.: Nico’s?
Dexter, 10:45 a.m.: Bet.
We arrive just before eleven, order, and Dex heads to the back while I duck into the bathroom—three minutes alone, wash my hands, shake off the rest of the chill from the walk over.
I look at myself in the mirror and tell the face looking back that he’s a sexy motherfucker, because obviously.
Then I step out and walk straight into my own trouble.
Dex is standing at the take-out counter when I come back, his head tilted, eyes fixed on something in the corner across from us. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his jaw tightens when he sees me.
“Bro, is that who I think it is?” he asks, nodding toward the wall where a couple sits crowded in on themselves like they own whatever private bubble they have contrived in the chaos of the place.
My line of sight follows.
For a beat I don’t register the rest of the world: the chatter, the clatter of dishes, the Nico’s worker calling out names for take-out orders.
All I see is Tori — and the man across from her.
Chase.
The last person in the world I want, or expect, to see sitting with her.
He looks… calm. Not the loud, angry, impossible-to-ignore version of himself. Calm enough that for a second I think maybe I’m misreading a hallucination.
Tori is listening to him. Not flinching. Not rolling her eyes. Her expression is soft and contained.
Tori can handle herself. She doesn’t need rescuing. She’s not some fragile woman who will be easily manipulated by Chase’s charm.
