She raises an eyebrow. “You smiled at them, didn’t you?”
“I threatened them a little.”
“How romantic.”
There’s a small smile tugging at her mouth, and the second I see it, something loosens in my chest.
We eat for a while, neither of us talking much. It’s not awkward; it’s rhythmic. Comfortable. She steals a fry from my container, watches a scene play out on the screen, and absentmindedly scratches Waffles’s belly with her foot like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And that’s the problem.
It is natural. Too natural.
This feels like the nights we spent eating takeout on my dorm mattress, pretending the springs weren’t digging into our backs. It feels like the thousands of tiny domestic moments we lived before everything fell apart—before I told myself I needed to get over her, before I convinced myself I had.
Like the last three years didn’t happen.
Like the space between us never existed.
Like I haven’t spent every day since trying to kill the part of me that still wants this.
And I’m failing spectacularly.
Tessa grabs a fry, dips it in ketchup, and shoves it into her mouth with zero grace. It’s ridiculous and somehow still attractive, which is irritating.
I take one from her container.
She immediately narrows her eyes. “That’s theft.”
“You stole two of mine earlier.”
“You were taking too long. They were going cold.”
“They were still mine.”
She tosses a fry at my chest. I catch it before it drops and eat it, watching her the whole time.
“Still got it,” I say.
She groans. “Please stop talking.”
I shift the containers so the open end of my wrap is facing her. She pauses, staring at it.
“Can I?—”
“No.”
She reaches anyway, her fingers brushing mine for a second before she tears off a piece. I let her because fighting her over food feels like admitting something bigger.
Waffles lifts his head from the mattress and drags himself between us. He drops his weight against my thigh, and breathes out loudly.
I look down. “Unbelievable.”
Tessa smirks and tears off another piece of chicken. She extends it, and Waffles takes it gently from her hand.
“He loves you now,” she says.
“He shit in the corner,” I remind her.
