I swallowed it down. Buried it under easy banter and careful distance. Because if I let her see how badly I wanted this, she might run.
“So,” she said, lifting her glass. The ice clinked softly against the sides. “Congratulations. You’ve successfully lured me into your family’s establishment.”
I forced a smile, keeping my voice light. “Felt like a safe place to start.”
She glanced around again, slower this time. The faint scent of frying onions drifted over from the kitchen, mixing with the warm malt smell of the taps. “Your relatives are everywhere.”
“They’re all over town. Impossible to avoid,” I said. “Guess I figured it might feel a little like old times. Familiar. Comforting, maybe?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “It is. I’m glad we’re here.”
I leaned back against the booth, the cracked vinyl cool through my shirt. The warmth of the pub settled around us—low laughter from the bar, the soft scrape of chairs, the occasional pop of the old jukebox kicking on in the corner. No agenda. No heavy questions. Just food and familiar ground. Whatever thiswas going to be, it didn’t need to start serious. It just needed to start. Even if every second of it felt like walking a tightrope over everything I’d ever wanted and everything I’d ever lost.
Savannah swung back by with our pretzel basket. The woven basket was warm, steam curling up from the golden knots, carrying the sharp tang of salt and butter.
“Okay,” she said with an easy smile. “Ready to order?”
Becca hesitated, gaze flicking down to the laminated menu. The edges were soft and curling from years of greasy fingers. “I don’t know. Everything sounds good, and that always makes it worse.”
Savannah chuckled. “You say that every time.”
I didn’t even look at the menu. I just went for it and ordered for her. “Grilled chicken sandwich,” I answered for her. “No tomato. Extra pickles. Onion rings.”
Becca looked up at me, half exasperated, half amused. “I like to pretend I have range.”
“You do,” I said. “I mean, you have one. One range. Nothing wrong with knowing what you like.”
She nudged my knee under the table. The denim of her jeans brushed mine, a quick, warm pressure that lingered for half a second longer than it needed to. Neither of us moved away.
That small contact sent a jolt through me, and I had to force myself to breathe normally. To remember that this was just… Becca, being Becca. And me trying not to read too much into every accidental touch.
Savannah grinned as she wrote it down. “I could’ve put this order in before you sat down. You two are still terrifyingly predictable.” She turned to me. “And for you, Levi? As if I need to ask.”
“Shepherd’s pie,” Becca blurted. “Add a side of fries. Because there are never enough potatoes for this guy.”
I sighed. “I was going to wait and see how I felt. Maybe order the fries later.”
Becca smiled. “You were absolutely not.”
Savannah laughed softly and tucked her pen away. “I’ll get this started.”
As she walked off, Becca leaned back in the booth, shaking her head. “We are still painfully predictable. She’s right.”
I grinned. “It keeps things simple.”
And the easy moment settled between us again, comfortable, like slipping into the past. But inside, my heart was hammering. Because simple didn’t mean safe. Simple meant I could pretend that this was just two old friends catching up. The space Savannah left behind felt quieter somehow, like the booth had drawn in around us once the ordering was done.
Becca wrapped both hands around her glass, rolling one of the cherries with her straw. The ice shifted with a soft clink. “So,” she said. “You always do this, every time we happen to be at the same place at the same time.”
“Do what?”
“Remember things,” she said lightly. “Like I’m a checklist you never stopped carrying around.”
I shrugged. “Some habits stick.”
She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “That’s one way to say it.”
For a few seconds, we just sat there, the low hum of the pub filling in the gaps—the clink of glasses, the murmur of voices, the familiar creak of the floorboards every time someone passed our booth. The pendant light above us swayed slightly, casting warm, shifting shadows across her face. It felt easy. Too easy, maybe, considering how careful we’d both been lately.
