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I open my mouth to ask the waitress passing by for anything else. Bread, potatoes, a decorative leaf, but she gives me a conspiratorial smile.

“Yours will be right out, ma’am,” she whispers, and my brow furrows.

Mine?

I’m saved from asking because, just then, Elijah stands and walks to the front to shake hands with one of the people that runs the event. I wish I could hear what he’s talking about—a genuinely moving speech about rescue animals and community support, I’m sure.

But my mind won’t stop wandering off. Everyone else goes quiet, but the noise in my head is so loud. Cal’s knee brushes mine under the table, warm and accidental. I wait for the tingly sensation. The butterflies. Anything close to what I had with Knox in my room the other day, and it just…doesn’t come. There’s no giddy kicking-my-feet-and-squealing-at-the-ceiling feeling that has me wanting to tell Lottie about it immediately.

It’s just there.

Ugh. Get it together, Flick.

When the speech ends, the waitress reappears and sets a plate in front of me.

I blink at it, wondering what exactly I’m looking at.

The dish itself is beautiful, like restaurant-competition-show, give Gordan Ramsey a run for his money beautiful.

Our waitress tells me it is roasted beets with ribbon-thin carrots over a swirl of cashew cream. Crisp broccolini rests against the stack, and microgreens sprinkle the top like confetti.

It’s vegan, perfect, and it’s just for me.

I glance around at all the plates near me, and not a single person has what I have. It really is just for me? I look up at Cal. He’s still watching his dad finish the speech, face full of easy pride.

Did he…do this for me?

Guilt swallows me that I’m not more into this date, or not more into the way his leg keeps lightly touching mine. He did this super sweet thing for me, and I am just over here trying to force any kind of feelings for him to pop up.

I lean in a little, lowering my voice. “Thank you so much,” I whisper near his ear. “For all of this.”

He looks over, confused. “Huh? Oh, yeah. No problem.”

I don’t even remember telling him I’m vegan.

A little spark of something warm flickers in my chest. He really is thoughtful. Considerate. Sweet. He fits in here well, and maybe I should fit in here too.

So why does everything feel…off? Like I’m slightly tilted. Like one leg is short on a table and wobbles at every slight movement.

I take a bite of the cashew cream dish; it’s delicious, perfect. I drink my lemon water, which is also perfect. I smile at Cal, who should be perfect for me.

Still, a tiny ache curls inside me. I can’t name it yet, but it sits there all the same. And I don’t know what it says about me that my first instinct is to text Knox about it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Knox

I have not slept well in days.

To be fair, I technically haven’t slept “well” in years. Some nights, there’s a steady anxious pull at my chest that something is wrong, nightmares of having to see my sister at the hospital all over again with bandages and wires wrapped around her head. Other nights it’s just a blank cloud in front of me, making me dizzy and too miserable to even think of sleep.

The last few days of poor sleep can be solely attributed to the running thought over and over of Felicity on a date with the town’s future vet. Pictures of their date won’t stop running through my mind, an endless loop of his hand potentially holding hers. Did she laugh at his jokes? What music did they listen to on the way home?

Pure torture.

Sure, when I left her house before the date, I had this whole idea that she should be happy—and she should be happy…just with me, preferably. My maturity can only trump my selfish greed for the girl for so long before it takes over again.

On the night of the date, Riley had found me waiting for Flick to get home on her porch.

“I can’t believe you let her go.” Riley laughs at me. Their date had started two hours ago, so they should be back within the hour.