I don’t even try to pretend I’m thinking about it.
ME:Give me twenty minutes.
The bar he takes me to is quieter than I expect, even for a Monday night. The place is tucked into a corner between two older buildings with tall windows and warm amber lighting that make everything feel softer, closer, and calmer the moment we step inside. I realize almost immediately that he chose it deliberately, just as he chose the live-music place last time. He’s paying attention to what makes me relax, even when I haven’t said it out loud.
“You look suspiciously pleased with yourself,” I tell him. He pulls out my chair as if it’s something he does without thinking, rather than something he's doing on purpose.
“That’s because you said yes in under thirty seconds,” he replies easily.
“That’s because you didn’t give me time to pretend I have better things to do.”
“You don’t,” he says.
“That’s very confident.”
“I’m learning,” he answers. Smiling in a way that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s joking or completely serious.
We settle into conversation almost immediately. The kind of conversation that doesn’t feel like catching up or impressing each other. It’s the kind that continues something we already started days ago and simply never stopped. Somewhere between arguing about whether his fern is judging me personally and him telling me a story about how he and Zane met during a summer camp tournament where neither of them expected to stay friends beyond the weekend, I realize I’ve stopped checking the door every few minutes the way I used to when I first came back to Chicago.
Which is exactly why I don’t see James right away.
And when I do notice him, it isn’t gradual or subtle or something I can prepare for.
It’s immediate. Sharp. Unavoidable. He’s standing near the bar and watching me. Smiling like he already knows this moment belongs to him.
My stomach drops so quickly it almost makes me dizzy. Blake notices before I say anything.
“What happened?” he coaxes. His voice shifts in that way it does when he stops being playful and starts paying attention.
I don’t answer. I can’t because James is already walking toward us.
“Well,” he says when he reaches our table, his voice smooth and controlled, just as it always used to be when he wanted to sound calm enough to make me doubt my own reactions,“this is unexpected.”
Blake doesn’t stand immediately. Doesn’t react suddenly. Doesn’t look surprised. He just lifts his head slowly.
“Perth.”
“Saxon.”
The way they say each other’s names sounds less like recognition and more like something unfinished.
James’s attention shifts back to me like Blake isn’t even there.
“I didn’t realize you’d downgraded,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on a change in the weather instead of deliberately trying to humiliate me in public.
Something inside my chest tightens so sharply it almost feels physical.
Before I can respond, Blake stands. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You should leave,” he says.
James laughs like that’s entertaining.
“I’m talking to her.”
“No,” Blake replies evenly.“You’re not.”
James looks between us with open amusement, like this entire situation exists purely for his entertainment.
