Heat creeps up my neck. “Well… I’m glad your team found us.”
He pauses. “It wasn’t my team.”
I tilt my head. “What?”
His eyes flicker slightly. “I found you.”
The words sit there between us. Too honest. Too unguarded. His fingers tighten around his glass like he realizes it.
“So… you’re a cat whisperer?”
“I wish.” I hesitate, then add lightly, “I’ve always wanted to do more. Travel. Volunteer. Help with conservation projects. Wildlife rescue. That kind of thing.”
He studies me a little more carefully now. “That’s cool, how many times have you done that so far?”
I smile at my plate. “None.”
His brow furrows. “None?”
“I apply,” I say quickly, a little defensive. “Every year. Different programs. Different countries. They just—” I lift one shoulder. “They never pick me.”
“They’ve never picked you…?”
“Nope.” I take a sip of water, pretending it doesn’t bother me.
He watches me for a second too long. “And you keep filling out the applications.”
I nod, a little embarrassed now. “Why wouldn’t I?”
There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. Not amusement. Not judgment. Something deeper.
“It’s probably for the best,” he says finally. “You couldn’t just leave your bakery.”
“I would.” The answer comes out before I think about it. “I mean, I’d do both, I’d figure it out.”
He goes very still.
I add, softer now, “I guess, I’m not really good at letting things go.”
He looks down at the table like I’ve said something far more significant than I meant to.
He exhales to himself. “Me either.”
The air subtly shifts. Like a door closes somewhere in another room.
“So,” I say carefully, trying to pull him back, “you and Bishop have known each other forever?”
His shoulders loosen a fraction. Safe territory. “Since we were kids,” he says. “We were always meant to play together.”
“Football?”
“Yeah.”
“And now you manage him.”
“I represent him,” he corrects quietly.
“Sorry. Represent.” I smile. “I mean… it sounds like life worked out for you.”
