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“What?” Nate shoved the last bit of pie in his mouth. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Dude.” He eyed me. “Did you fuck her?”
“Oh my god,” I muttered, meaningfully jutting my chin toward my three-year-old, although he was too busy literally licking his plate to notice Nate’s curse.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
“So, whatdidyou do?”
This time, Dylan shifted forward, elbows on the table, ready for story time.
I knew there was no way around it, so I told them, “Tuesday night, we were watching a movie and…”
They both waited.
I rubbed my palm over my mouth. “I may now know what she sounds like when she comes.”
Nate chuckled. “You dog!”
Dylan smirked.
I ignored them both when my phone buzzed. Kennedy’s text read,I miss Finn.
I snapped a picture of Finn, his mouth covered in remnants of whipped cream, and sent it back to her.He misses you too.
“Look at him smiling,” Nate stage-whispered. “Must be her.”
“Definitely,” Dylan agreed.
So do I, I messaged like some love-sick idiot.
Her reply was three purple hearts. Three purple hearts…?
“Hey… Uh…”
The guys gazed at me, brows arched.
I cleared my throat and set my phone down. “What do you think it means if you tell someone you miss them and they respond with purple hearts but nothing else?”
Dylan tossed his head back and howled in laughter. The prick.
“You really like her, huh?” Nate rubbed his hands together. “Emoji analysis, that’s what I’m here for.”
“They’re hearts,” Dylan said, lingering amusement still on his face. “She likes you. What is there to analyze?”
“I don’t know.” I threw my hand out. “She’s in a whole different generation than us. Maybe it means something different. Like, what if she’s trying to let me down easy instead of calling me her pervert boss.”
“What have you two been texting about?” Nate asked.
“Nothing big, just good morning and good night. She checks in on Finn a lot. I ask her what she’s up to.”
He shrugged. “So, everything sounds solid. She’s definitely into you. Hearts are a good thing.”
“But why wouldn’t she say it back?” I asked, rolling my beer bottle on its edge across the table. It wasn’t like Icouldn’texpress myself verbally; Ididn’tbecause feelings were hard for me. I’d spent most of my life even-keeled, happy with the status quo, but Kennedy’d upended that. She felt so much, and like I’d been warned, loved so hard, it was impossible for me not to want to be the same way. I texted her that because not only was it true, but I needed her to know.
