Page 45 of Good Graces

I smirk as I drop into the empty seat beside them. “I can turn around now if you’d prefer.”

Jordan kicks my shin lightly under the table. “Shut up.”

I roll my eyes but settle in. The lighting is warm, the scent of toasted rosemary drifting from the board in front of me. There’s a tiny jar of fig jam, some briny-looking olives, a neat stack of thin crackers.

Alyssa gestures toward the spread. “We already ordered. But get a drink. We’re staying for a couple rounds.”

I nod and let them fall back into easy conversation—some guy Jordan met at the gym, the playlist Alyssa’s been obsessing over, their half-formed plans for a beach trip that may or may not happen before classes start. It’s light, familiar, but it feels like I’m watching from the outside, like I missed too much time with them to fully fall back in.

It’s not their fault. I kept my distance. And now, I don’t know how to close it.

The waiter swings by, and I order something simple—a gin and tonic, easy to sip, easy to keep my hands busy.

Alyssa presses her hands to her cheeks. The slight flush of pink over her freckles tells me she’s already a bit tipsy. “So, what’s with you actually agreeing to come out with us? Is the world ending? Did you get fired?”

Jordan nudges her. “Don’t scare her off.”

I shake my head. “Just felt like getting out for a bit.”

Alyssa hums, skeptical. “And you chose us?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” I ask.

“Nah, I’ll take it,” she says with a grin. “And I’m fully prepared for you to ghost us again for another three months.”

Jordan snorts. “That’s ambitious. Try six.”

I roll my eyes and take a slow sip of my drink. They fall into another round of chatter—Jordan ranting about her stats professor, Alyssa reenacting a particularly awful Hinge date—and I offer the occasional hum or half laugh to let them know I’m listening.

It’s strange, this whole thing. Sitting here, half-wrapped in the warmth of their voices, their jokes, the clink of glasses and hum of conversation around us. It’s not familiar, not really. But it’s simple. Undemanding. A version of connection I forgot I might still be capable of.

So, I let myself have it. Just for tonight. I press my fingers to the cool curve of my glass and stay exactly where I am.

Not watching the door. Not reaching for my phone. Just here.

15

WARREN

The pool’sshut down for cleaning, and the afternoon swim block is cancelled, which means we’re all on break for the time being. The lifeguards, the servers, even a few of the golf course attendants who wandered over all crammed into the break room for a fifteen-minute breather.

More importantly, there’s cake.

Zane turned twenty-one today, and Robbie brought in some shitty store-bought thing with way too much frosting. No one cares that it’s not good. It’s free, and it’s chocolate.

“Happy legal drinking age to you!” Robbie singsongs. “Hope you’re ready for the worst hangover of your life.”

Zane just shoves another bite of cake into his mouth. “You know I’ve been training for this moment.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Robbie says and slaps him on the back. “But you’re still on shift for another four hours, so no birthday beers until then.”

Zane groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “It’s like youwantme to suffer.”

“Anything else would be a lie,” Robbie says.

There’s some scattered laughter, the kind that comes easy when you’re in the second half of your shift, when the worst of the heat has already passed and all you have to do is get through the final few hours.

The room starts to thin out after a few minutes. People trickle back toward their posts, some heading out for smoke breaks, others just trying to squeeze in a few minutes of quiet before the pool reopens.

---