I hug Juliette then look around to find Lucy stretched out on the worn leather couch in the corner like she owns the place, while Eva’s behind the counter, carefully sliding a record into its sleeve.
The vibe is chill and casual, relaxing me. If this is what Happy Hour is supposed to feel like, it’s both a blessing and a curse.
Because I know I have approximately five minutes before one of them looks at me too closely and realizes something has happened. And not in a small way, but in a way that is currently sitting right under my skin, making it impossible to think about anything else.
Lucy glances up first and her eyes narrow slightly, scanning me like she’s already picking apart whatever version of normal I’m trying to sell.
“Well,” she says slowly, setting her glass down. “That’s a face.”
I don’t break stride. “I always have a face.”
“Not like that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You walked in like you’ve either committed a crime or fallen in love,” Eva says from behind the counter, not even looking up from the records she’s sorting.
I stop in my tracks. “Those are wildly different things.”
“Not really,” Lucy mutters.
Juliette glances up from where she’s flipping through a stack of sleeves. She studies me for a second longer than the others.
“You are glowing,” she says, her tone suspicious.
“New makeup.” I hate all of them.
“Nope. This is more.” Lucy shakes her head, rising from the couch and making her way across the room to me. “I’ve known you for a long time, and you look guilty.”
“Why do I have to look guilty?” I ask, side-stepping Lucy and dropping into the nearest chair and reaching for the wine someone has already poured for me.
Lucy leans back, crossing her arms. “Oh, something absolutely happened.”
“Definesomething.”
“Start talking,” she says.
I take a sip of wine. Buy myself a second. Two. Three.
“It was last week.” I wave a hand vaguely. “We went out for ice cream…”
“Who is we?” Eva cuts in.
“Went out for ice cream?” Juliette parrots.
I hesitate. It’s like being in front of a firing squad.
Lucy’s eyes light up. “Oh, hold up. It’s him.”
“It’s not?—”
“It’s him,” she repeats, pointing at me like she’s just solved something. “It’s Ty, isn’t it?”
Juliette sets her drink down, and Eva stops what she’s doing and waits. Three sets of expectant eyes watch and wait for me to acknowledge what Lucy has said. Finally, I do.
“It was Ty,” I admit.
Luckily they wait a hot second, before Lucy makes a noise. A full, uncontained,are you kidding menoise.
