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I turn toward her.

"Lenora O'Reilly."

I sigh. "We dated in high school."

Her mouth drops open.

"And some of college," I add. "Well… his college."

She presses her lips together, leaning back into the cushion of the booth. "Just an old friend, huh?"

I wince. She springs forward.

"Wait! The tweet! The, the…" She snaps, trying to remember back to the one fleeting conversation we had about me knowing him. "The Ashford supply closet convo."

I nod.

"Well…" she licks her lips and narrows her eyes, focusing on what is probably my painfully pale face. "Have you texted him yet?"

"What?" My eyes go wide. "How did you—"

She tilts her chin down knowingly. "Come on now, Len. I'm surprised it took me this long to piece together. I blame the guy who smelled like soup that day for forcing that whole shift into the back pocket of my mind."

I groan.

"So… have you? Texted him?"

I shake my head.

"Has he texted you?"

My jaw tightens. "No."

"Cool," she says, sitting forward and grabbing the champagne. "Then I love this for both of you."

"Dylan," I blurt, slapping her arm.

"What?" She pops the bottle effortlessly—no spill. No mess. "It sort of forces the issue here, don't you think?"

"There's—" I swallow, my voice catching in my throat as I glance over my shoulder again. "There's not—he doesn't even like places like this."

Dylan lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Apparently he does."

Like he heard us, Jace's gaze shifts and lands directly on me.

It's instant. Unmistakable.

And so is the way the air leaves my lungs in one sharp breath.

His eyes drag over me—slow, deliberate, taking in the black jeans, the heels, the hair.

Before I can stop myself, I wave. Not a grand beckoning, thank God. But I wiggle my fingers enough to say Nice to see you again in a space you don't typically sleep or walk around naked.

He purses his lips slightly but doesn't wave back. And there's something unreadable in his expression that flickers at first, then settles into something flatter. Controlled.

Something intentional.

I think maybe it's recognition. Like the silence between us these last few days might mean something to him, too. Like he was just as scared to make the first intentional move as I was.