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“Hungry?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak without blathering, and he gestures toward the restaurant. “Let’s eat.”
We step into the restaurant and I silently thank whoever manages the air conditioning in here. You would think it was the peak of summer at the rate I am sweating. The host seats us, hands over menus and indicates the server will be with us in a moment, then walks off.
Devlyn and I lift the menus like shields and I almost laugh at our identical behavior.
Is he as nervous as I am?
Devlyn is always cool and collected. A perfect example of chill. Him on edge is unimaginable. Impossible. Preposterous.
We place our order, and now the only thing we have to shield or distract us is two glasses of water. And I should try to pace my drinking. Take small sips and not too many. Repeated trips to the bathroom will do nothing but kick my anxiety into overdrive and embarrass me to no end.
“How was your Halloween?” he asks as I study the ice cubes in my water.
I peer up and spot genuine interest on his face. His gentle smile and pale-green eyes calm me a fraction. “Good. Hung out with friends, had spooky-looking food, handed out candy. You?”
He plays with his straw, but his eyes don’t deviate from mine. His stare isn’t intense or uncomfortable. If anything, eye contact with Devlyn feels automatic. Natural. Effortless. As does his company. And this poses question after unanswered question. Because I get the sense he doesn’t want anything more than this. Lunches and trips to museums and whatever else it is non-romantic, platonic friends do. Together… but not.
I think back to all the times I’d hung out with Jonas before he and Autumn were together. Our friendship came naturally. Our connection more like siblings or cousins. Things have always been straightforward and comfortable with Jonas. The definition of our relationship always clear and never tricky or confounding.
Not like with Devlyn.
Don’t think I will ever regard Devlyn with that same brotherly mindset. The idea is ludicrous.
“Quiet. Not a lot of kids live in my neighborhood. So I get a small bag of candy and make sure it’s something I’ll eat eventually.” He laughs and I follow suit.
“I hand out candy if I’m home, but it’s minimal too. But don’t be fooled, the day after, I’m the lady raiding the shelves. For myself and the shop.”
“Hmm. Too bad I didn’t start the mural later. Bet you have good taste.” My eyes widen a fraction. “In candy choice,” he adds.
I love how he feels the need to clarify. As if I didn’t know he meant the candy.
Lunch arrives and silence settles over the table. I dig into spring greens piled high with turkey-craisin salad, feta, veggies, and sweet dressing.
Every now and then, I peek up from my food to find Devlyn staring. Not the creepy type of staring that makes my skin crawl. But the type that makes my chest and neck and cheeks hot. The type that makes my throat dry and causes me to swallow over and over.
The server returns as we finish our lunch. Her eyes dart in my direction, a big smile on her face. “One check?” she asks.
My brows pinch together as to why she asksmethis. Not that I am the type to assume the guy always pays or that Devlyn will pay for my lunch. But something in the way she looks at me while she asks has me thinking there is an underlying assumption. One I am not privy to.
“I’ll take the bill,” Devlyn speaks up.
The server shifts her focus to Devlyn as her cheeks pinken and eyes widen. “Oh. God.” She closes her eyes a beat and shakes her head. “I am so sorry. I just assumed he was…” Her eyes come back to me, her blush darkening.What am I missing here?“Your son or little brother.”
What. The. Fuck?
I stop breathing. Stop every motor function I control.
She thought he was my son? She thought Devlyn was my son?
Jesus. How old do I look?
Yes, Devlyn looks young. Maybe a year or two younger than his actual age. But there is no possible way we look that far apart in age. That I look sixteen-plus years older than him. Do I?
How many people over the years have told me I look young for my age? How many have asked what skin regimen I use because of my youthful appearance? Far too many to count. So, how is it this woman thinks I am Devlyn’smother?
Soon as Devlyn hands her a card with the check, she bolts from the table. No doubt she is as mortified as I am. Just for different reasons. Bet this curbs any future assumptions she’d voice aloud.
“Hey,” Devlyn says from his seat across the table.
