"Ted and Sam are joining us. Double date. I thought you'd love it, especially after how you reacted to the Hawaii idea. You said you liked surprises."
My stomach lurches.
I put a hand over my chest, feeling my racing heart as I grab the fabric of my shirt in frustration.
This is going to be a confrontation of epic proportions.
"Shit," Vince says quietly, his voice dropping as realization dawns. "I did something wrong, didn't I?"
His face crumple with worry, and my frustration softens. He looked so excited to surprise me, and had the circumstances with Ted been different, it might've been sweet. He couldn't have known.
My head sinks into my hands, muffling my words as I confess, "I tried to break up with him recently. With Ted." A sighescapes me. "It's not your fault—I never told you how bad things really were between us." I lift my head slightly, meeting Vince's concerned gaze. "I've been pretending everything's fine, but we just aren't working." A bitter laugh escapes me. "He convinced me to give it until after the holidays. I think I might be a little bit of a doormat."
Vince's expression turns to one of genuine remorse. "Andy... I can't tell you how sorry I am. I didn't know. Ted didn't make it sound like anything was off between you two when I called him. He loved this idea."
"Of course he did," I mutter, scowling. "How the hell did you even get his number?"
"Is there a 'sold' sign in this city that doesn't have that man's face plastered on it?" Vince groaned, swirling the last of his drink. "And his cell number? You can't escape it. It's practically a local landmark in West Hollywood at this point." He set his glass down with a thud, leaning forward conspiratorially. "But Andy, please explain this to me: why, for the love of all that is holy, is a man who sells houses for a living posing shirtless on a boat for his professional LinkedIn headshot? His entire Instagram is just a shrine to his own abs, interspersed with pictures of master bathrooms. It's a thirst trap with property listings. Why, Andy? I need to understand the logic here."
I can't help it—a laugh bubbles up, sharp and bitter, cutting through the dread coiling in my gut. Vince keeps going, his hands flying, his glass sloshing as he talks. That look in his eyes... I've seen it before. The way his voice gets tight when he mentions Ted's Instagram, the tension in his jaw.
It's not just teasing. There's something else there, something even he might not see.
"And don't even get me started on the phone call," Vince continues, exasperation dripping from every word. "He couldn't even multitask. Had to pull over at some McDonald's in themiddle of our conversation and completely forgot what we were talking about because he put me on hold to order 'some grub.' I mean, no offense, Andy, but also major offense... you're way out of his league. What the hell are you doing with this guy?"
He leans forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sends shivers down my spine. The candlelight flickers between us, casting shadows that dance across his face as he watches me, waiting for an answer I don't have.
"Seriously," he presses, his dark eyes searching mine. "I don't get it. You're smart, you're funny, you've got that whole quiet intensity thing going on that drives people crazy. You're reading Steinbeck for fun, for God's sake. Meanwhile, this guy seems to think the world revolves around him."
I open my mouth to protest, to defend Ted somehow, but the words won't come. Because he's right. I know he's right.
"You deserve better, Andy," Vince says, his voice softening. "Someone who gets you, not someone who needs to guilt you into another chance just to mess things up again."
The intensity of his gaze sends heat flooding my cheeks, and I have to look away, focusing instead on the flickering candle between us. My stomach does flips as I realize he's not just criticizing Ted. He's defending me.
He sees me.
He looks at me then, his frustration softening into something apologetic.
"Andy, I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have made this a whole thing without talking to you first."
My hand moves on its own, drawn to the warmth beside the candle. When my fingers brush his, a jolt shoots up my arm. His skin is warm against mine, the slight calluses on his palm sending shivers through me. Vince's eyes drop to where our hands now touch, his breath catching audibly.
For a heartbeat that stretches into eternity, his gaze stays there before slowly lifting to meet mine.
His pupils are blown wide in the candlelight, the usual playful mischief replaced by something more vulnerable. My own heart pounds against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that I'm sure he must feel through our joined hands. But I don't pull away. Instead, I let my thumb trace a slow circle across his knuckles, watching as a tremor runs through his arm, as his fingers curl just slightly to hold mine tighter.
"Vince, this isn't on you," I murmur, my voice barely carrying over the restaurant's noise. "I'm embarrassed about the whole thing. My relationship was crumbling while yours thrived. I should have told you I'd tried to end things, that I was an idiot for letting him talk me into another chance. You didn't overstep. You're just... you. Always thinking of others, caring so deeply it hurts."
He gives me a warning look, but I press on.
"You're a softie. You're not fooling anyone with your designer sunglasses and your car. I bet you cry at that Chevy commercial with the puppy."
His eyebrows shoot up, a perfect arch of theatrical disbelief that makes him look younger, more open. The candlelight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid amber for a moment. I watch the muscles in his jaw work, fighting against the smile that's already tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Everyone cries at that commercial," he retorts, finally letting the grin break through, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Even tough guys who pretend they don't. Especially them."
The laugh that escapes me feels too loud in the elegant dining room, but I don't care. "It's just a dog, Vince. The music's cheesy, and the kid they cast is awful at crying. It's over the top and corny." I lean forward, lowering my voice to match his,our faces illuminated by the single flame between us. "It's not heartwarming. It's manipulative marketing."
