He looks up, and our eyes meet across the room.
And just like that, the nerves go, as if they’d never been there at all.
Saying something to Hawke and Torch, he crosses toward me, and we meet somewhere in the middle of the room with the noise and warmth of the evening all around us.
“You came.”
“You invited me.” Something in me smiles before I’ve decided to.
His eyes move over me then, slowly, just once. It’s the kind of look that takes its time and doesn’t pretend otherwise, and when they come back to my face, something in his expression has shifted into something quieter and more certain.
“You look beautiful, Sophia,” he compliments, low, direct, and without performance.
Something moves through me that I have absolutely no idea what to do with.
“Thank you.” I focus very hard on holding his gaze.
He’s got that almost-smile at the corner of his mouth that I’ve come to know well enough to look for. He turns slightly to guide me through the room, that brief, warm pressure at the small of my back that lasts exactly as long as it needs to and not a second longer. I focus very hard on walking in a straight line.
Almost immediately, Quill finds me. He is there before I’ve fully gotten my bearings, that commanding presence and the warmth underneath it all that I’ve always loved about him, and he pulls me into a proper hug before I’ve even finished reaching for one. It’s the kind that holds on a moment longer than politeness requires because it means something, and both of us know it.
“Sophia.” His voice is warm against my hair.
“Quill.” I hold on.
When we pull back, he really looks at me the way Quill always does, taking inventory of everything he needs to know before he speaks, “You look better.” His blue eyes are warm and certain.
“Vegas apparently agrees with me.”
He smiles at that, warm and entirely Quill. “Apparently.”
Then he is gone, moving back through the room with both clubs needing his attention. Inhaling a deep breath, I turn to face the rest of the evening.
Hawke is next, blond hair loose around his shoulders, that watchfulness softening slightly when he sees me. “Good to see you upright.” From Hawke, that is the equivalent of a warm embrace.
“Good to be upright.”
The corner of his mouth moves in something that is almost a smile, and that is enough between us.
Raven is in the kitchen when I make my way through.
We crossed paths before, the white dress, that look across the room, but never been in the same space long enough for it to be anything. She catches my eye once across the counter and gives me a look that is careful, measured, and entirely unreadable, and I give her one back that is exactly the same. Then we both look away and get on with what we are doing.
No warmth between us, but not war either.
Finding my way to the counter beside her after a few minutes, I start helping without being asked, cutting, plating, carrying things out to the tables in the yard, and for a while, we work together in the same space without speaking, a careful truce between two women who understand each other’s position well enough that it doesn’t need discussing.
Carrying a bowl of salad out to one of the tables, I hear my name and turn.
Rhyder is standing a few feet away, slightly apart from the main group, the way he always seems to be, looking at me with an expression I hadn’t been prepared for at all.
It is gentle.
I steel myself for the gravity of him, the controlled intensity that I know is always there, but underneath it is something much softer than I expected. It catches me completely off guard, but in the best possible way.
“How are you holding up?”
“Better than I was. Getting there.” A pause. “How’s Lexi?”
