When I don’t reply in an acceptable amount of time, she just laughs. “Hey! What are you doing here? Are you by yourself?”
Her voice, light and sweet, is music to my ears.
“Yes,” I reply. “Just wanted to get something to eat before I went home.”
And feel sorry for myself,I think.My house is too big, I wish you were in it, and I’m insanely jealous that Ivan asked you out. I know it’s irrational. I’m sorry.
Maeve peers down at the papers in front of me. “Want some company? Ivan and I have space at our booth.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything,” I reply quickly.
What are the odds that I would pick the same restaurant that they were at?
How embarrassing. And what if she’s asking me to join them out of pity?
If that’s the case, I don’t know if I could ever step foot in the clinic again.
Maeve giggles, another lovely sound that I’ll never get over.
“No. We want you with us.Iwant you,” she amends. “And bring the fries.”
I’m incapable of saying no to her now.
Even if it still feels like I’m crashing their date and about to be a third wheel.
Grabbing my fries, papers, and water, I follow the Omega in a daze, still in shock that she’s asked me to join them.
When we reach their booth, Ivan looks at me with a knowing, shit-eating grin on his face, and I shoot him a look.
There’s no reason to believe that he knows about my internal struggle with Maeve, but still, he eyes me carefully.
“What the hell were you doing here by yourself?” he asks while I place the basket of fries on the table. Ivan makes room so I can sit next to him, and Maeve sits on the opposite side of the booth directly across from me.
“Having dinner.” I shrug, placing my water and papers down.
“With your medical journals?” Ivan deadpans, and Maeve gives me a half smile.
“What are they about?” she asks curiously.
“Uh…pigeons,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck.
I was sitting at a booth alone with a basket of uneaten fries reading about pigeons.
Ivan falls silent while Maeve blinks. “Pigeons,” she repeats slowly.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about your thing with them,” Ivan adds, and I’m ready for Maeve to laugh at me.
But there’s a fond, soft smile on her face. “What’s the deal with pigeons?” she asks, giving me that same curious look she gave me when she walked up to my table.
Ivan groans.
“This isn’t going to be interesting,” I warn her.
She takes one of the fries and pops it into her mouth. “Try me,” she says.
Being the subject of Maeve’s undivided attention is an addictive feeling. One I could get used to far too quickly and crave more of.
“Rock doves are misunderstood,” I say slowly. “They have a reputation of being dirty and pests—when we were the ones that domesticated them years ago. We used them as mail carriers and message senders, and once we decided that we had a better way of doing things, we abandoned them.”
