“Same thing.” He slumped into his chair, pouting.
But Chase waved me off. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He looked at Benji. “No, I haven’t been in love before, not really. I thought I was, once, when I was in law school, but looking back, it was more . . . finding comfort with someone than anything else, if that makes sense. Law school was tough and stressful. It felt good to have someone who understood.” He stopped, and I watched something shift in his expression. “But this thing with Finn . . . this is different. Everything about it feels different.”
The entire backyard went quiet, only the crickets and roaming roosters offering their opinions on our conversation.
I stared at Chase, my heart struggling to find a steady rhythm.
This is different.
What did that mean? Different how? Different because he cared more? Or different because—
“Well,” Benji said, breaking the silence. “That was romantic as hell. Points to the lawyer.”
“Seriously,” Priya added. “That was beautiful.”
“Nah,” Chase protested, his face flushing. “It was just—true.”
“Even better,” Mark said, raising his beer. “To truth.”
“To truth!” everyone echoed, and the moment passed.
But I couldn’t stop staring at Chase, couldn’t stop replaying his words and searching for meaning hidden within them.
This is different.
“You sent Jacks to three different liquor stores.”
We’d moved inside from the patio, and our conversation shifted to the much safer territory of the bar.
“At the same time!” Jacks added. “I was like, how am I supposed to be in three places at once? I’m fast, but I’m not that fast.”
“You figured it out,” I said.
Jacks surprised me by going on the offensive. “But you were panicking, and that was adorable. You get this little wrinkle right here”—he pointed at my forehead—“when you’re stressed, and your accent gets stronger.”
“My accent doesnotget stronger,” I said, and clover flew out of my mouth.
“See! Right there. You did it again,” Mark said. “When you’re tired or stressed or emotional, you sound like you just got off the boat from Dublin.”
“Or stepped out of a pub,” Priya said.
“Or a hobbit hole.” Benji smirked.
“A hobbit? I . . . I don’t—”
“Yeah, you do,” Mark confirmed.
I looked at Chase, desperate for support and feeling very self-conscious. “Do I do that?”
He had this soft expression on his face—fond and amused and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
“Traitor,” I said, reaching down to shove his leg.
“But it’s cute,” Jacks said.
“It is very cute,” Priya said. “And Chase thinks so, too. Look at his face.”
