I nodded once.
Neither of us moved.
Then she reached for my hand again, threading her fingers through mine. Her skin was warm now, slightly callused at the base of her fingers from work. I brushed my thumb slowly across her knuckles, feeling the fine bones beneath.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
She nodded, then—almost without deciding—leaned forward and rested her forehead against my chest. I felt the silk of her hair against my chin, smelled the faint lavender in it, and felt the steady rhythm of her breathing sync slowly with mine.
After a while, she eased back just enough to look up. “I’m starving,” she said, a small, genuine smile breaking through. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since lunch. My stomach’s been growling for the last hour. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”
“Same.” She glanced toward the tiny kitchenette. “I’ve got nothing here worth cooking. But Joe’s still delivers. Feel like a pizza?”
I grinned, already knowing. “Pineapple and jalapeños?”
Her eyes lit with mischief. “Extra jalapeños. Harper and Jude always acted like we were trying to poison them.”
“Harper literally gagged once,” I said, laughing under my breath. “Jude just kept muttering ‘crime against pizza’ and left the room.”
“Remember when they tried to stage an intervention?” she added, voice lighter now. “Told us we were ‘traumatizing them.’”
We both laughed softly, the sound small and shared, easing the last of the evening’s heaviness.
We ordered one large pizza with pineapple and jalapeños. While we waited, she moved around the small space with quiet purpose—lighting a second candle so twin flames danced on the walls, dimming the overhead light until the room felt cocooned in gold. The air grew warmer, sweeter with candle wax and anticipation. I leaned against the counter and watched her—the graceful line of her neck when she reached up, the way her sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder for a second before she tugged it back.
When the delivery arrived, the scent of the pizza and the rush of cool night air came with it. We carried it to the fold-down table, knees brushing beneath the wood. Steam rose, carrying the sharp tang of jalapeños and the bright sweetness of pineapple. She flipped the box open; the cheese stretched in long golden threads as she pulled a slice free.
She handed me the first piece without a word. We ate quietly at first, the river murmuring outside, the occasional pop of a candle wick.
After a couple of bites, she looked up. “I used to picture this.”
“I paused. “What?”
“Us. Like this. Eating our questionable pizza together. Talking without the world pressing in. Friends like we used to be.”
I set my slice down. “I pictured it too. More nights than I want to admit. Like a memory mixed up with hope for the future.”
She reached across the small table, brushing her fingertips across the back of my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She pulled her hand back slowly, tucking it around her glass, and looked at me with the expression she got when she was genuinely curious about something and had decided to just ask it. “How was poker night?”
“Asher won the first hand and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.” I shook my head. “You’d think he’d won a professional tournament.”
She smiled at that, leaning her chin on her hand. “How much did you lose?”
I picked up my glass. “Enough that I’m not going to say the number out loud.”
“That bad?” She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh and not quite managing it.
“It was a difficult evening,” I said, with as much dignity as the situation allowed. “Cade cleaned us all out by the end, which somehow made Asher’s victory feel less significant, so there was some justice in it.” I reached for another slice. “Jude brought pretzels as his contribution to the evening and ate most of them himself.”
She laughed then, properly, tipping her head back slightly. “That’s so Jude. Were they—” she paused, and something flickered briefly across her face, careful and then gone. “Were they okay? About the trailer situation?”
“They were fine,” I said. “Concerned. You know how they are.”
