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Stunned, Molly could only blink.

“You were released from the hospital when?” Eli asked, clearly rhetorically. “Six weeks ago? And he’s still acting like you have to be hand-fed from a censored list of information about your own life? Look, I’m firmly of the belief that Molly Graham can handle anything, especially after six whole weeks of practice. And feel free to remind everyone of that in my eulogy when Aster kills me for doing this.”

“I—wow.” Molly said. “Thank you?”

She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Eli’s bizarre confidence in her rang with an unexpected quality of feeling seen.

“You’re welcome. He isn’t giving you enough credit right now.” He took another enormous gulp of his beer before continuing.

“The fucks for Aster were just the introduction to what I actually wanted to talk about. Something for you to remember when you’re considering slapping me.”

Molly’s brows lifted. Silence stretched between them while Eli found something in his beer extremely fascinating, tapping his fingers against the bottle as he stared. Finally, his gaze snapped up to Molly.

“You’re killing him.”

Molly startled from the suddenness of the accusation. “Bishop?”

“No. Not Bishop. Aster. The guy who bound his life and heart and soul to your pedantic ass until the end of time. And as his best friend, I literally cannot take it anymore. He’s losing his mind and drinking all my good scotch.”

“I—”

“Not your turn.”

She sat back against the booth, taken aback.

“He’s been sleeping on a sofa—that sofa—for weeks now. You do realize how absurd that is, don’t you? Rhetorical question, by the way. His back is shot, he’s got a knot in his neck he won’t stop complaining about, and the man is starving for affection. Which is a weird thing for me to know about him, but that’s where we are right now. You’ve been reacquainted with me for all of what? An hour? And we’ve walked arm in arm down the street, but you haven’t so much as touched the man since you—”

“That’s different—”

“Still not done,” he said. “And then there’s the whole Bishop situation. We’re not kids anymore. And it’s not like when I call you by your last name. That’s just for fun. This is very obviously not fun for him. So, you could try calling him Aster, for fuck’s sake. I’m starting to think he’s keeping track of every time you avoid his name and is taking shots for each offense.”

Molly jumped when he reached across the table and tapped the fourth finger on her left hand. “And you haven’t even asked about your ring, have you? I’m pretty sure he assumed you’d at least ask, curiosity and all, but you haven’t said a damn thing.” Sadness flickered across his features for a fraction of a second.

Then the remaining hardness on Eli’s face wilted as he took a deep breath. “Okay, that’s it. That was the tough love. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Molly opened her mouth to say something but had to close it. She took a sip of her drink. She opened her mouth again and then had to blink away the tears that surprised her.

Eli groaned and leaned his head back against the booth, eyes to the ceiling. “I made you cry. Aster might actually kill me.”

“They’re just overwhelmed tears,” she said, already wrangling them under control. “That was—it was a lot.”

Eli kept his head tilted to the sky as if seeking absolution. “If you did want to slap me, now’s your chance.”

“I’m not going to slap you.”

He looked back down, studying her. “In that case, where do you want to start?”

“Start? With all that?” She released a nervous laugh. She was drowning in his tough love.

“I recall you trying to interrupt on more than one occasion.”

“He’s told you . . . all that?” Molly asked through the uncomfortable feeling of being exposed.

“Only some of it. Other parts are inferred. I’ve known him a long time. I like to think I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”

“Well, he hasn’t told me any of it, between the lines or otherwise. Because he barely talks to me at all. He spends every day acting like he’s terrified of me, especially since the disaster dinner I’m assuming you know about.”

Eli lifted his hands in mock defense. “Look, I am absolutely against Aster’s ‘no personality means you can’t hate him’ plan.”