“It should be.”
Jonathon offers Tavey a smallnod. “Jonathon.”
“Hi,” she says, with commendable restraint.
Ford glances between us. “Y’all having a good time?”
“Yes,” Tavey says immediately.
“Mostly,” I say, which is close enough to the truth and considerably less alarming thanYes, I think I’m falling in love with the woman beside me, thanks for asking.
Ford follows that answer with the easy smile of a man who already knows more than he’s letting on. “Good.”
Matt looks me over again, apparently still not over the costume situation. “Did you actually watch the show, or did you just Google ‘shirtless warrior’ and go from there?”
“I did some research,” I say.
Tavey makes a sound that is definitely a suppressed laugh.
“Image searches,” I add, because apparently I’m committed to this.
Matt looks delighted. “Incredible.”
Jonathon, who has been observing all of this with his characteristic stillness, takes a measured sip of his drink. Then he looks at me — not at Tavey, not at the costume, not at the table. At me. With that particular expression that means he’s reached a conclusion he didn’t expect. I stifle an annoyedsigh.
This is probably going to result in a lecture from him about the dangers of mixing business and personal life. Possibly a detailed email about the company’s intra-office dating policy. Which I have verified I am in no way violating. Nosy bastard.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that before,” he says.
The table goes slightly quiet.
“Like what?” I ask.
He considers the question with more care than it probably warrants.
“Like you’re exactly where you want to be,” he says.
Ford’s smile deepens. Matt wisely says nothing for once. Even Tavey, beside me, goes very still.
I don’t answer.
Jonathon doesn’t seem to require one.
Ford breaks it with the ease of a man who’s been defusing socially charged moments since birth. He straightens, claps me once on the shoulder, and says — casual as anything — “You still coming Wednesday? We need a fourth.”
I glance at Jonathon. He’s the one most likely to be annoyed if I show up. He gives a nod so subtle it’s just as likely to be a twitch. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Ford lifts his glass toward Tavey. “Don’t let him brood too much. He does that.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says.
Matt waggles his fingers at her. “It was a genuine pleasure, Tavey.”
Jonathon inclines his head. “Good night.”
And then all three of them fold back into the crowd — a weather system of charisma, chaos, and quietly devastating fiscal intelligence — and they’re gone.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
