I hate that.
I hate how easy it would be to lean into this if I let myself.
He takes a sip of water, sets the glass down, and then he says, “Thank you for doing this.”
I freeze. “Dinner?”
He nods. “Yeah. For saying yes.”
“It’s dinner, Jace.”
“I know.” His voice drops slightly. “Still. You could’ve said no.”
I swallow, because the truth is… I almost did. Not because I didn’t want to see him.
Because I did.
Because that want has never been the problem but at the same time always the problem.
“I didn’t say no,” I answer, keeping my tone even.
His eyes don’t move. “I noticed.”
My fingers tighten on the edge of the menu.‘Don’t spiral,’I remind myself.
But my brain is already reaching for the hidden blade inside that sentence.
He noticed.
Meaning he noticed everything.
The pause the other night. The way I pulled back. The way I looked at him like I was afraid of my own body.
I set the menu down and force myself to breathe.
“Can we not make this too deep?” I ask.
His brow furrows, like I’ve surprised him. “I’m not trying to.”
“I know.” I lift a shoulder. “I just… I want one normal night.”
His gaze softens in a way that makes it worse. “Okay.”
The food comes. The conversation finds its rhythm again.
For a while, it almost works.
Almost.
Until someone walks past our booth and says, a little too brightly, “Coach Prescott! Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
My spine locks.
Jace turns his head, polite expression already in place. “Hey.”
It’s one of the boosters. A woman I’ve spoken to at least a dozen times. She looks between us, smile still fixed.
“Oh!” she says, like she just found a piece of gossip wrapped in a bow. “Sarah! Hi, honey. I didn’t realize you two…”
