Page 35 of The Wild Card

That last one slips out before I can stop it. Too honest. Too real.

Crew doesn’t say anything, but something shifts in his expression. That rare soft look—the one I’ve only seen him give Murphy—is there for just a second before it disappears.

I clear my throat. “Fortune cookies. We haven’t done fortune cookies.”

I toss him one, and he catches it easily. We crack them open at the same time, and I pull out the little slip of paper.

“What’s yours say?” I ask.

He reads it, and his face does something complicated. “A new relationship is about to blossom. You will be blessed.”

I burst out laughing. “Okay, the universe has jokes tonight.”

“What’s yours?”

I look down at my fortune. “Adventure awaits—say yes to the unexpected.”

We sit there for a moment, surrounded by takeout containers and crumpled napkins, holding our stupid little fortunes like they mean something.

“Well,” I say. “At least the cookies are on board with our plan.”

* * *

We clean up together, and it’s weirdly domestic. He washes, I dry. He puts the leftovers away with the labels facing out—because of course he does—while I wipe down the counter.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, folding the dish towel.

“You’ve been asking me things all night.”

“One more. What was the military like?”

He pauses, hands still in the soapy water. “Structured. Clear expectations. I liked that part.”

“And the not-so-good parts?”

“There were… incidents. Things I don’t like to talk about.” He rinses the last dish and sets it in the rack. “But it wasn’t all bad. The guys I served with—we got close. Probably the closest I’ve ever been to having friends.”

“Tell me something good, then. A fun story.”

He dries his hands, leaning against the counter. For a long moment, I think he’s going to say no. Then—

“There was this guy. Josiah, we called him Curly. Total troublemaker. He once convinced our entire unit that we were getting inspected by a general the next morning.”

“Were you?”

“No. He just wanted to see how fast everyone would panic-clean the barracks at 2 AM.” Crew’s mouth twitches. “Twenty grown men scrubbing toilets in their underwear because Curly couldn’t pass up a prank.”

I grin. “Please tell me someone got revenge.”

“Someone put hot sauce in his toothpaste. He brushed his teeth for thirty seconds before he realized.”

“That’s amazing.”

“He couldn’t taste anything for two days.” The almost-smile is back, and this time it lingers. “He said it was worth it.”

I’m laughing again, and I realize this is the most relaxed I’ve seen Crew since I moved in. The rigid posture has softened. The constant tension in his jaw has eased. He looks almost… normal. Like someone who used to have friends and pull pranks and exist in the world like a regular human being.

“You should smile more,” I tell him. “It looks good on you.”