I slide my hand over the table, brushing hers as I reach for the ketchup. “That better?”
Her eyes flick to our hands, the barest pause, before she pulls hers back to adjust her napkin. “Getting warmer.”
When the food comes, Nancy sets the plate between us, fries spilling over the edge. “You two enjoy now,” she says with a wink that makes me want to groan.
We split the burger, passing the plate back and forth like it’s second nature. Every time our fingers graze, Lyla’s gaze cuts up to mine, just quick enough to look accidental if anyone’s watching.
Under the table, her knee bumps mine once, then again, lighter this time. I leave mine there, solid against hers.
She tilts her head, smiling in that slow, deliberate way that’s all for show, except her eyes aren’t on the room anymore. They’re on me.
“See?” she says quietly, her voice meant only for me. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I take a fry, leaning back. “Not yet.”
The bell over the door jingles again, and a wave of chatter follows in.
I don’t notice who it is until Lyla’s gaze shifts past my shoulder, her smile tightening.
Morgan Price. Reporter. Professional gossip with a press badge. She’s already got her phone in hand as she makes a beeline for our table.
“Well, well,” she says brightly. “Look who’s making waves. Mind if I get a quick picture?”
“Yes,” I say at the same time Lyla says, “Of course.”
Morgan’s grin sharpens, sensing blood in the water. “You two look cozy. New thing? Or should we call it a reunion?”
Lyla leans back against the booth, her hand sliding deliberately across the table until it’s resting palm-up beside mine. “We’re very cozy,” she says sweetly, eyes flicking to me with a challenge in them.
She wants me to play along.
I slide my hand into hers, threading our fingers. “Cozy doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Morgan raises a brow, clearly waiting for more.
And then I realize what she’s really after… proof. Something no one can mistake for anything but what it looks like.
I reach across the table, cupping Lyla’s jaw in one hand. She’s warm under my palm, her eyes widening a fraction before I close the distance and kiss her.
It’s supposed to be for the cameras.
But the moment my mouth touches hers, the noise of the diner fades out. Her lips are soft, parting under mine with a sharp inhale that I feel more than hear. I angle closer, my thumb brushing her cheek, and she leans in like she’s been waiting years for this.
The flash from Morgan’s phone snaps me back. I pull away, slower than I should, our breaths mingling for one more beat before I let go.
“That ought to do it,” I say, my voice low enough for only Lyla to hear.
Morgan looks like she just won the lottery. She taps her screen and drifts away, no doubt already posting it everywhere.
Lyla sits back, touching her lips like she’s testing if they’re still there.
For a moment, neither of us says a word. And then Nancy’s voice cuts through from the counter: “Dessert?”
“Check,” I say, already knowing we need to get the hell out of here.
The cold hits the second we step outside, the kind that bites at your ears and makes the air taste sharp.
Lyla tugs her hoodie tighter, keeping her gaze fixed on the sidewalk. Across the street, Mrs. Carver is “watering” her plants again, which would be impressive if they weren’t fake plastic ferns. She’s not even pretending not to watch.
