Page 49 of Welded Defender
Wes’s shoulders slump. “Oh god, here we go.”
She ignores him, her gaze zeroing in on me and Landon. “When are you two going to bite the bullet and go on a real date?”
I nearly choke again. “What?”
Landon stiffens beside me, the tips of his ears turning pink in the firelight.
Nova shrugs. “Come on. It’s obvious. The longing glances, the lingering touches?—”
“Nova,” Becket warns from across the fire, his tone sharp.
“What?” she fires back.
“Maybe filter yourself a bit.”
Her head snaps toward him. “Filter myself?”
“Not every thought needs to be said out loud.”
Nova laughs, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Right. Because pretending to be someone you’re not is a much better strategy.”
The fire pops and hisses, suddenly the only sound. Wes forces a chuckle that dies halfway up his throat. Ravi's voice drops to a murmur—"always the same shit with these two"—as he hunches forward, elbows on knees. Joon's pencil hovers over his sketchbook, then lowers with a soft tap. I grip my mug tighter, the ceramic burning my palms as I count the marshmallows floating in my cocoa.
Three heartbeats pass. Four. Five. A muscle twitches along Becket's jawline, steady as Morse code. Joon's pencil moves again, the scratch-scratch-scratch against paper unnaturally loud in the silence. Wes reaches for the bag of marshmallows, fumbling with the plastic while Ravi focuses intensely on rotating his stick, turning his blackening marshmallow with a bomb technician's concentration.
I steal a glance at Landon. His eyes reflect the dancing flames, jaw tight, fingers drumming against his knee.
The marshmallows burn. The fire dies to embers. Wes's jokes fall flat.
Later, Landon's truck rattles over potholes, windshield wipers squeaking against the light snow. My breath fogs the passenger window as I trace shapes with my fingertip. He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and clears his throat.
"About earlier," he says, voice catching.
"It's okay, really?—"
"No." His thumb traces a circle on the wheel. "Nova saw something I've been—" He glances over, streetlight sliding across his face. "Would you want to? Sometime?"
My fingers find a loose thread on my sleeve. "Want to what?"
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Have dinner. Just us."
I count five heartbeats before answering. "Tomorrow? I can cook."
His exhale fogs slightly in chilled air. He nods, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. "Tomorrow."
CHAPTER 26
Marcy
Iline up the last fork when the knock comes. Three light taps. My hand flies to my hair, smoothing flyaways that weren’t there a second ago. I catch my reflection in the microwave door—flushed cheeks, bright eyes—and roll them at myself. Almost a week of sharing the same bed, and here I am fidgeting like it’s junior prom.
The hinges creak as I pull the door open. Landon fills the frame, shoulders dusted with melting snow, that careful half-smile playing on his face. His left hand stays behind his back for exactly two seconds before he brings it forward. Daisies—white petals with sunny centers—tilt in different directions inside their grocery store wrapping, the brown paper crinkling softly between his fingers.
I can’t find my voice for a moment. “Are those…?”
“They’re for you,” he says quickly, ducking his head. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d like, so… these looked—uh—happy.”
“I love them.” My fingers tremble as I reach for the bouquet. Our hands brush during the exchange, and I nearly drop the flowers. Something electric travels from my fingertips up my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Thank you.”
