Page 152 of The Friend Situation

I’m mildly aware there are paps across the street as we eat breakfast.

“Showing off that ring,” Weston comments, and I realize I’m sipping my coffee with my left hand fully visible.

“Not on purpose,” I reply, noticing how it sparkles in the winter sunlight. “But maybe I should give everyone something to talk about when it comes to us.”

“Am I watching a villain be born?” His eyes soften at the edges, almost as if he’s lost in a daydream.

I wish I could see what he sees. Maybe, one day, I will. I hope.

“If you keep looking at me like that, they’ll sayyou’reobsessed withme,” I joke, smiling over the rim of my cup.

“I have a secret,” he whispers, leaning in closer. “Iam.”

“Oh, stop.” I shake my head.

“Still not convinced? Okay,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, grinning as our pancakes slide across the table.

I ordered pumpkin while he opted for chocolate chip, topped with whipped cream, just as he had mentioned.

“Want a bite? They smell amazing,” I offer, cutting a chunk ofmy pancake for him. He does the same for me, and we feed each other. “That’s delicious. Very chocolaty.”

As we eat, our eyes flick toward one another, but neither of us feels the need to fill the silence with words. It’s a comfortable quiet where conversation flows naturally when needed. His presence is enough, an entire experience in itself.

My mind drifts as I gaze out the large windows of the diner. It may be in the upper forties, but the streets are bustling with people soaking up the sun. A steady stream of hungry couples enters the building, and the bell above the door jingles each time.

Low chatter fills the air, mingling with the aroma of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Our gazes meet once more, and just as I’m about to speak, my phone rings.

“Shit,” I mutter, glancing down at the display.

Weston’s brow arches. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” I assure him, but he reaches forward and answers.

“Hi, Carlee Jolly’s future husband,” Weston says.

I can hear a deep voice on the other line.

“Who the fuck is this?” Weston snaps back, continuing to eat, then laughs. “Oh. Hilarious. Yes. One second.”

My anxiety spikes as he hands me the phone.

“Oh, so you’re just going to get engaged and not tell anyone in your fucking family? What the fuck, Carlee Jean Jolly?” my older brother Matteo says.

My teeth grind together at the use of my full name as he scolds me like a child. “The last time I checked, I was a grown-ass woman with grown-ass problems who can make grown-ass decisions. For the last time, stay out of my life. It’s not your business.”

“Yes, it is,” my brother yells.

“I’m not arguing anymore.” I end the call with a frustrated sigh. “Older brothers are a pain in my ass. I feel sorry for Billie.”

Weston smirks. “He cares about you.”

“He needs to chill,” I state as a text comes in.

I unlock my phone and read it, quickly realizing it’s a group message featuring my mom, both brothers, and sister.

Matteo

Are you fucking kidding me? That conversation wasn’t over!

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