Okay. I was doing this.
Did I wait when there were barely any customers left to witness the potential embarrassment? Maybe. Probably.
But Dane was still here, in his corner, nursing the melted ice in his glass, in no hurry to leave. I stopped a couple of steps from his table, hesitation finally catching up to me.
I should’ve brought him another tea instead, or thought this through a little more. I shifted my weight, already half-turning back.
“Hey.” Dane’s voice pulled me up short.
He lowered his e-reader with a small smile, like I’d just interrupted something less interesting.
“Hey,” I said. There was no backing out now. “I brought you a brownie. Thought you might be hungry.”
Then, before I could stop myself, I added, “It’s not as good as the ones you make, though.”
Dane made amazing brownies. I’d had them at the pack’s annual carwash fundraiser last year.
They were simple, unfussy yet somehow unfairly good. They disappeared fast.
“It looks great,” he said. “Thanks.”
And just like that, I had no idea what to do with myself. My hands, my face—nothing quite felt right.
I stayed there a beat too long, long enough for the moment to turn awkward, before I finally forced myself to move.
“Do you mind if I—” I gestured vaguely at the seat across him.
Dane didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”
I pulled the chair out and sat down, regret settling in almost immediately.
Up close like this, there was no buffer, no counter between us, no easy excuse to look away. It was just him, right in front of me.
I glanced toward the counter on instinct. Janine was watching us curiously.
I looked away quickly, focusing instead on the table. Water rings dotted the surface, overlapping in uneven circles.
I reached for the rag tucked into my apron and started wiping them down without thinking. My hand stopped when Dane’s hand settled over mine.
“Seth?” he asked gently. “Is everything alright?”
A short nervous laugh escaped me. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to outrun the words already piling up.
Glen practically calling me a boring hermit, me hating how much that stuck, not wanting to prove him right.
Sitting here really was a mistake. I should’ve stayed standing, kept my distance so I could’ve looked anywhere but at him.
Because looking at him like this, with those light blue eyes, calm and steady as they stayed on me, felt dangerous. And yet something in me tightened.
The wedding. The pressure. And the fact that I hadn’t just said I was bringing someone. I’d said I had a boyfriend.
Which meant this wasn’t a simple favor. I wasn’t just asking him to come with me for one night.
Still, if I didn’t ask now, I wasn’t sure I ever could. The words started forming before I could talk myself out of it.
3
