“Yeah, yeah.”
I’ve known Jordan longer than I’ve known Sophie or Miles, but I’ve never seen the quiet bartender come to life the way he does with Miles.
Which raises the question: what would that even be like for me? To have that kind of easy, light happiness with someone? Or to not worry that I’m too much or not enough or somehow always just slightly off from what people want?
I want it so bad it hurts, but not if it means shrinking parts of myself to fit into something more acceptable, or pretending to be someone I’m not just to make it easier for someone else. That’s not worth it. But for now? This—friends, laughter—that’s enough.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“We should do something soon,” I say, taking a bite of my food.
Miles perks up immediately. “We can always go to Graham’s Bar.”
I groan, already smiling. “You just want an excuse to bother Jordan while he’s working.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says without shame. “He’s so fun to tease on the clock.”
Sophie laughs. “You’re terrible. You know it really is torture for him, right? Staring at you and not being able to touch you?”
“Oh, I know. That’s part of the fun. All that build-up…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Trust me, he likes it too.”
Sophie cackles, nudging him. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Miles has that signature dopey, ridiculously happy expression spreading across his face that everyone in love gets. I envy it.
“Alright, fine. I’m in,” I say, reaching for my phone.
Sophie agrees.
We fall into planning of who’s driving and what time. A few minutes later, my phone buzzes on the table, and I swipe to read the text.
“Holden says he’s in for tonight and he’ll invite Hattie and our friends too.”
Sophie grins conspiratorially. “Perfect. The more chaos, the better.”
The bar is louder now than when we first got here. Upbeat music pulses through the floor, and the air smells like beer and citrus and too many bodies packed into one place. At some point, we pushed two tables together to make room, and now there are empty glasses scattered everywhere like evidence of a really good night.
Hattie is halfway draped over Mateo’s shoulder, and she’s got that bright, mischievous look in her eyes, the one that usually means she’s thinking about something she absolutely shouldn’t.
Camila is laughing at something Mateo said, her curls falling loosely over her chest and her cheeks flushed pink. Mateo looks like he’s pretending to be annoyed, but he’s smiling too, one arm steady around her so she doesn’t slide off her stool.
Holden is beside me, his knee pressed against mine and loose in a way I don’t see very often. His laugh comes easier after a couple of beers.
I let myself sink into it, into the rhythm of their voices and the warmth of being surrounded by people who feel like home.
“Wait.” Hattie suddenly sits up like a bolt of electricity just shot through her. She points a finger at Holden, squinting. “You!”
Holden blinks. “Uh. Me?”
“You went on a date a couple of weeks ago,” she accuses, like he’s been withholding classified information. “With that guy from the restaurant.”
Mateo lets out a low whistle. “Ohhh, yeah. I forgot about that.”
Camila perks up too, leaning across the table with wide eyes. “Details. I want all of them.”
I feel Holden shift beside me, his posture tightening just a little. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know that tension.
“It was nothing,” he says quickly, reaching for his drink as if that might end the conversation.
