Their easy back-and-forth loosens the tension that’s been coiling in my chest for days. Watching them exist together without effort, it almost feels as if nothing happened between us. As if we’re still the same people we were before everything fractured and fell apart.
The diner door swings open once more, and Jace walks out.
My eyes are drawn to him. My body responds before my brain does.
He scans the parking lot. His eyes first land on my car, then on Noah, and finally on Aubrey.
His expression shifts into that familiar mix of amusement—the look he gets when he’s walking into something he didn’t askfor but isn’t going to back down from either. He moves toward us with that lazy “fuck what anyone thinks” mask.
He’s carrying a paper bag with grease stains already bleeding through the bottom.
He heads directly toward my car. When he reaches the passenger side, he opens the door and slides into the seat next to me.
The paper bag crinkles as he drops it into his lap. The smell of fries and burgers fills the space instantly. Salt and grease and something fried that makes my stomach twist with hunger I didn’t realize I had.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He glances at it, then at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Dinner,” he says casually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You brought me food from the place you just worked.”
“Congratulations,” he replies without missing a beat. “You understand how restaurants work.”
He pulls a fry out of the bag and pops it into his mouth. Chews slowly. Swallows. His jaw works as he stares through the windshield.
“I got your favorite,” he says, popping another fry into his mouth. His lips quirk at the corners of his mouth, forming that cocky half-smirk he always wears when he knows he’s done something right. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I give him a smile.
When I glance up again, Noah and Aubrey are both watching us. Standing there by my window, taking it all in. The way Jace climbed into the car. Our easy banter. The space we share that doesn’t need explanation.
Noah straightens and pushes away from the car.
“Well,” he says, done assessing whatever he came here to assess. “We’ll see you later.”
“Drive safe,” Aubrey says, turning slightly.
Jace lifts two fingers in a lazy salute through the window. He doesn’t bother with words. Simply has that casual arrogance he carries everywhere.
Noah drapes an arm around Aubrey’s shoulders as they walk back toward his car. She leans into him, fitting against his side perfectly. This is the kind of closeness that comes from knowing someone’s body as well as your own.
I watch them for a brief second before starting the car. The engine turns over. Rumbles to life beneath us. Vibrations humming through the steering wheel.
Beside me, Jace takes another handful of fries from the bag. The sound of him chewing fills the quiet.
“You going to drive?” He asks around a mouthful of food. “Or are we going to sit here while I eat your dinner?”
I shake my head and drive out of the parking lot, headlights slicing through the darkness.
He pulls out a handful of fries and holds them toward me. Grease glistens on his fingers in the dim dashboard light. It makes his skin shine.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the fries. They’re still warm. I pop them into my mouth. The salt hits first.
We share the fries on the drive home, the salt and grease coating my fingers. It’s the first real food I’ve had all day that doesn’t sit in my stomach wrong.
I pull into my driveway and kill the engine.
