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“You’ll know,” Beckett says. “She’s not great at hiding it when she’s pissed.”

“Trust me, I remember.”

***

The restaurant’s cozy. Warm lighting. Brick walls. More romantic than I was expecting for a casual double not-quite-date.

I spot Quinn the second I walk in. She’s laughing at something Abby said, her hands curled around a wine glass. Her hair’s down, soft and wavy. She’s wearing the earrings I gave her on the Christmas before I left.

That shouldn’t matter. But it does.

Beckett and I join them. There’s surprise in Quinn’s eyes, but not irritation. Just that quiet curiosity she’s had lately, like she’s trying to decide if I’m real or just a mirage.

Conversation flows. Nothing too deep. Just town gossip, funny stories from the rink, Abby teasing Beckett about leaving his socks in the dryer too long.

Eventually, the girls excuse themselves, heading to the bathroom together like women do. I take the chance to breathe.

“She’s wearing the earrings,” I murmur.

Beckett nods. “I noticed.”

“You think it means something?”

He gives me a look. “You’ve got eyes, don’t you?”

I shake my head, smiling. “Don’t get my hopes up.”

“They’re already up, man. Just don’t mess it up this time.”

I glance around the room, taking it in. A couple in the corner is holding hands over candlelight. A waitress laughs as she drops abreadbasket off at a booth of teenage hockey players in uniform. There’s a rhythm to this town, a heartbeat. I missed it more than I ever realized.

When Quinn and Abby return, I stand out of instinct. Quinn blinks but doesn’t say anything—just gives me a small nod as she slides into her seat.

Dessert comes. The tiramisu really is as good as promised. Quinn steals a bite from Abby’s plate, and I watch her smile stretch just a little wider. Her laugh lingers longer.

When the check comes, we fight over it. Quinn rolls her eyes when I slip my card to the waiter.

“Still the same Wes,” she mutters.

“Trying not to be,” I reply softly.

Something flickers in her gaze. She doesn’t respond.

Outside, we linger in the parking lot under the soft glow of the streetlamps. Quinn and I hang back while Abby and Beckett chat by their car.

“Thanks for not making it weird tonight,” she says.

“You’re welcome.” I smile. “But for the record, I never make things weird. That’s your job.”

She bumps her shoulder against mine. It’s light. Casual. But it shoots straight through me.

“I had fun,” she adds.

“Me too.”

We fall quiet. I should probably walk away now. Leave her with a good impression, no pressure.

But then she turns to me, her voice soft. “I still don’t know what this is.”