“Nervous?” Rowan asks.
“No.” I tear another piece, which is ridiculous because I am absolutely spiraling and we both know it. “Maybe. I don’t know. Are you going to coach me? Like, do I need to memorize your favorite color or your childhood pet’s name?”
“My favorite color is navy. I didn’t have pets.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I had other priorities.”
“Like what? Baby briefcases? Toddler tax law?”
His mouth twitches. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m making conversation.”
“You’re spiraling.”
The food arrives before I can argue. My pancakes are enormous, dripping with syrup and dusted with powdered sugar. Rowan’s eggs look like they were arranged by a food stylist.
I cut a piece of pancake, take a bite, and—oh, my gosh. Actual flavor. Real maple syrup. I may have moaned slightly.
When I open my eyes, Rowan’s staring.
“What?” I ask around another bite.
“You always eat like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s...” He pauses, searching for words. “A religious experience.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Some of us appreciate good food.”
“I can see that.”
There’s something in his voice that makes my skin feel too tight.
I set my fork down. “Sorry. I know it’s probably not very sophisticated?—”
“I didn’t say I minded.”
The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
I pick up my fork again, but now I’m hyperaware of every movement. Every sound.
“So,” I say, desperate to fill the silence. “What’s my backstory? How did we meet? How long have we been together?”
“We’ll keep it simple. College sweethearts. Recently reunited.”
“That’s... actually true.”
“The best lies usually are.”
I take another bite, smaller this time. “What if someone asks about the gap? Why we broke up?”
His jaw tightens. “We won’t let them.”
“But what if?—”
