Page 201 of Rising Heat

“You look…incredible.”

“I know.”

She says it with that easy little smile of hers and keeps walking toward us like she didn’t just knock the air out of both our lungs.

Her eyes find me next.

“You clean up pretty good, too.”

I tilt my chin toward her.

“Pretty good?”

“You already know,” she teases, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she passes.

The corner of my mouth betrays me, and I push off the wall before I do something stupid like drag her inside and skip dinner altogether.

“You ready?”

She nods once and slips naturally into the space between us as we head toward the front door.

I don’t think she even realizes she does that now.

The first couple of weeks she lived here, she’d leave enough room between herself and whichever one of us happened to be walking beside her that a fourth person probably could’ve fit. Every accidental brush of an elbow came with an apology, like she’d somehow wandered into somebody else’s conversation.

Now she gravitates to the middle without a second thought.

Tyler asks about the bakery before we’ve even reached the corner, apparently remembering the picture she’d texted us last week of some croissant she claimed changed her life. I’d forgotten the croissant entirely. Ty hadn’t, which doesn’t surprise me.

He remembers little things like that—stories people think they’ve tossed into the wind—and Darcy lights up immediately, launching into an explanation about why Boston bagels are an insult, and anybody charging eight dollars for laminated pastry should probably be arrested.

Tyler argues back just to keep her going.

Tyler does this thing where he’ll throw one sentence into a conversation just to get her talking, then sit back and let her prove him wrong for the next five minutes. He barely says another word after that. Doesn’t need to. She’ll roll her eyes, start talking with her hands, and forget she’s the one carrying the conversation.

I noticed all of that weeks ago.

Now I catch myself waiting for it.

I spend the next two blocks listening to them debate carbs like it’s congressional testimony.

A guy staring at his phone drifts across the sidewalk in front of us, and before I even think to move Tyler’s already stepped toward the curb. Darcy doesn’t stop talking. She doesn’t even look up. She just shifts the other direction until she’s brushing my arm instead, still explaining sourdough starters like her life depends on it.

Neither of them pauses or even notices.

Funny how fast people can start making room for each other without ever talking about it.

It’s such a small thing I probably shouldn’t read into it, except I can’t seem to stop.

If somebody walked past us right now, what would they see? Three friends?

Maybe.

If Tyler reached over and took her hand right now, I don’t think either of us would think twice about it. If I stopped her halfway down the block and kissed her, people would probably look. A month ago that might’ve been enough to stop me.

Tonight, all I can think is that I don’t give a shit.

Before I can pick that thought apart any further, the hotel comes into view at the end of the block.