I pulled the sweater over my head and left the apartment without asking the mirror how I felt about it.
NELL tried once in the car. “Your calendar lists O’Malley’s. Prior Wednesday attendance correlated with elevated—”
I muted her at the lot.
The pub was the same noise. Same neon. Same booth in the back.
Marc waved. Ben already had a pint. Maya shimmed like she always does. Luke had saved the inside seat. He didn’t stand. He just looked up when I reached the table, kitchen still in the look, then he scooted.
I sat. Thighs found each other like they’d done it last week, because they had. No announcement.
“Took you long enough, Mercer,” Marc said.
“You’d drown in the first round without me.”
Luke’s chuckle went through the denim. “She’s got a point. We don’t talk about Nena.”
“We don’t,” Ben said.
Maya leaned in. “New plan. We win.”
“The plan is always to win,” I said.
Luke handed me a menu. His fingers brushed mine. I took it and opened to the burgers.
Burgers. Fries. Beer that had given up. The quizmaster cycled categories like he was paid by the hour.
I still knew the one-hit wonders and the dead inventors. Luke swept a random round on seventies muscle cars and late-night synth-pop without blinking. Marc still thought Poirot lived on Baker Street. Maya still had to say Belgian.
Mid-round he nudged my arm for a capital.
“Bujumbura,” I said, and wrote the answer.
Break. Maya and Marc went for the bar. Ben stretched.
“You two staying?” Maya asked.
“Yep,” Luke said. His leg pressed once against mine, small, and stayed. I stayed.
Fifth place. Cheese-shop gift certificate went to someone else. Marc swore it was Bujumbura. Ben said Gitega, 2019, and that Marc had said the wrong one loudly. I laughed. Luke’s hand landed on my back through the wool of the sweater, then moved away as Marc turned back around. No one commented. No one needed to.
Outside, the five of us split. Maya and Ben one way. Marc the other.
“You and Claire almost carried us,” Marc said, and clapped Luke’s shoulder.
Neither of us corrected the phrasing.
Luke fell into step toward my hatchback.
“Still Bujumbura?” he said, close to my ear.
“Marc after two pints is not a source.”
“Gitega. Cheap trick question.” His shoulder bumped mine. His hand found mine. Fingers laced like they’d already practiced. I let them.
At the hatchback, Luke stopped with my hand still in his.
“Fifth place,” he said.
“Marc said Bujumbura with confidence. There was only so much we could do.”
“You wrote Bujumbura.”
“Under hostile influence.”
“He said it once.”
“Very confidently.”
Luke huffed a laugh, his mouth tipping up.
He kissed me before I could formulate another defense. Short. Certain. His thumb caught briefly against the edge of my jaw before he stepped back.
“Tomorrow, Mercer.”
“Tomorrow.”
I got into the car.
He headed for his truck.
Fifth place was unacceptable.
I had no other complaints.