“Well, for what it's worth,” I say, “I'm glad it's you. If anyone had to steal my sister's heart, I'd pick you.”
Alfie smiles, a real one, not his usual subtle twitch. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“Just don't make me an uncle too soon,” I add quickly. “I'm way too young and hot to be Uncle Troy.”
He rolls his eyes. “There it is.”
“What?”
He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and looks out of the window.
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. He's right, and we both know it.
“So what's the deal with you and Delilah?” Alfie asks after a mile or two of comfortable silence. “Are you actually into her, or is this just another Troy Hawkins conquest?”
A few months ago, I'd have laughed it off. Made some joke about how no one's immune to my charm. But now...
“I don't know,” I admit, the words feeling raw in my throat.
“And... good?” Alfie sounds genuinely curious.
I think about Delilah's sharp eyes seeing through my bullshit. Her refusal to be impressed by my smile. The way shedemands more from me—and somehow makes me want to give it.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It is.”
Alfie nods like I've confirmed something he already suspected.
“That'swhy you're freaking out,” he says. “Because it matters.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the road, not trusting myself to look at him. “Maybe.”
“For what it's worth,” he says, echoing my earlier words, “I think she feels the same way. She's just figuring it out too.”
“You think?”
“I do.”
I want to believe him. I want it more than I've wanted almost anything in a long time.
“Well,” I say, forcing my voice back to its usual lightness, “if that's true, she has terrible taste.”
Alfie snorts. “Must run in the family.”
I punch his arm lightly. “You calling yourself terrible, buddy?”
“I'm calling myself an acquired taste,” he corrects. “Like whiskey, or jazz.”
“Or those weird French cheeses Ethan eats that smell like feet.”
“Exactly.”
We fall into easy conversation after that, debating whether expensive cheese is actually good or just something people pretend to like, arguing over music choices, planning the weekend's activities.
But in the back of my mind I can’t forget Delilah’s face at breakfast, she looked hurt and it kills me not knowing why.
I'm heading backfrom the engineering lab, arms full of material samples and my mind running through load calculations, when I spot Jared leaning against the wall outside the building. My steps falter. He hasn't seen me yet, and for a second I consider turning around.
“Hawkins!” he calls, too loud, like he's performing for an audience that isn't there.
