Soren is sitting at the end of the booth, watching the couples with that soft, faraway look he gets when he thinks nobody's paying attention. I catch his eye. He smiles and looks away. I've learned that Soren sees a hell of a lot more than he says, and I respect him for it.
Callum catches my gaze from the opposite side of the table. He just gives me a single nod. It’s the nod of an alpha who spent weeks watching me like a hawk to make sure I wasn't going to fuck up again, and has finally decided I'm worth keeping around. I nod back.
Milo asks about my dad. I give him the short version between fries. "Outpatient. Doing okay. Benji met up with my mom on Tuesday, and she wouldn't let him leave for three hours."
Milo’s face softens, and Callum’s arm tightens around him. I don't mention the part where I FaceTimed Benji from the hospital waiting room, propping my phone against a vending machine because my chest felt too tight and I needed to hear his voice. He’d answered on the first ring, told me the fluorescent lighting made me look like a serial killer, and by the time my dad came out of his appointment, I was actually laughing.
"Your grandma texted me a pie recipe," Jude tells Benji. "She likes me better than you."
"Ruth likes everyone better than me," Benji deadpans. "That's her entire personality."
My mom and Grandma Ruth have a group chat now. I didn't set it up. Nobody even told me about it. I found out when my mom sent me a screenshot of Ruth calling her "hon" and asking for recommendations on compression socks. Last week they were swapping slow cooker recipes. Two women who didn't know each other three months ago, now a unit, tied together by sheer force of will and a shared love for two idiots.
Someone brings up the shop. Benji’s been designing flash for the wall, and Mars pretends to hate every piece right up until he pins them up when he thinks no one's looking. I mention this, and Benji kicks my shin under the table.
"Don't be sappy."
"I'm stating facts."
"Facts can be sappy. Stop it."
Jude stands up, accidentally knocking Rhys's drink in the process. "Okay. It's time."
The table quiets down—or at least as quiet as this group gets. Jude raises his glass with the solemnity of a priest at a funeral. "Ladies, gentlemen, and people who've been personally victimized by the algorithm. We are gathered here tonight to say goodbye to the trashiest app on any of our phones." He pauses for dramatic effect. "KnotMe gave us bad dates, worsepickup lines, a suspicious number of fish photos, and also... accidentally, against all odds, the loves of our lives. So." He lifts his glass higher. "To the app that had no business working as well as it did. Rest in trash."
"Rest in trash," we echo, and drink.
Phones come out. Jude deletes his profile with a massive flourish, showing Rhys the empty screen. Milo deletes his with a soft smile, leaning into Callum’s side. Benji rolls his eyes, opens the app, taps delete with his thumb, and says, "Good riddance."
I pull out my phone and show him my screen. The app has been gone for weeks. Benji glances at it, his mouth twitching, and leans his weight against me.
"Worst hookup app ever," he mutters against my shoulder, quiet enough that the rest of the table can't hear.
"Best swipe of your life," I murmur into his hair, "and you know it."
"It was aspiteswipe."
"Mmhm."
His hand squeezes my thigh. I press my mouth to his temple. The table immediately erupts into noises of disgust.
"Get a room!" Jude yells.
Benji flips him off without lifting his head from my shoulder.
Shay holds his phone up. "I'm keeping mine." His screen glows with the active KnotMe interface. "Someone has to represent the single life. I'm still looking for a hookup, thank you very much."
"Famous last words," Jude says.
"We'll be at your deletion ceremony in three months," Benji adds.
"Over my dead body," Shay says, taking a sip of his whiskey like he's never been wrong a day in his life.
Behind the bar, Declan polishes a glass. He doesn't say a word, but I catch the faint smile on his face.
Later, I go back to the bar for another round. While I'm waiting for Declan to pour, I watch my pack. I watch the sharp-tongued omega in the inside seat who's currently stealing fries from Soren. Then I glance at Shay. And I catch it—Declan's gaze, resting on Shay for a beat longer than necessary. It’s the steady, quiet attention of a man who's been looking for a while and hasn't said shit about it. Declan catches me watching and slides my drinks across the counter without breaking eye contact. I take the tray. I know that look. I wore it for months, staring at a face in my sketchbook.
On the way out, everyone’s grabbing jackets and settling tabs. Soren picks something up from the edge of the table. A small, carved wooden bird. He turns it over in his fingers, that soft dreamer expression on his face.
