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She blushes, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Thanks. It’s definitely been a group effort.”

Lucas, fork halfway to his mouth, says, “You flying out for it?”

My stomach tightens.

Just like that, the warmth shifts.

I feel Laney still slightly beside me, like she’s waiting for something. And I hate what happens next.

Because the answer should be yes. Hell, I want her there. She deserves to be there.

But that week?

It’s going to be a mess.

That label publicist—the mistake—she’ll be in London, shadowing press, and I can’t bring Laney into that chaos. Into that history. Not when she’s this good. This pure piece of my life that hasn’t been touched by the industry’s worst parts.

So I dodge.

“Still figuring logistics,” I say, too casual. “Lots of moving pieces.”

I don’t look at her when I say it.

But I feel it. The silence. The pause. That subtle withdrawal, like a thread loosening between us.

And then Sam—ever the save-the-moment queen—jumps in.

“Lucas also forgot his passport renewal appointment last week,” she says brightly, tossing her husband a smirk. “So if anyone’s not flying anywhere, it’s him.”

“I was busy,” Lucas protests, gesturing with his wine. “I had to finish the merch designs. Your idea, by the way.”

“And my idea was brilliant.”

“Your idea had glitter, Sam.”

“You loved it.”

Nico mutters, “I’m surrounded by idiots,” but his smirk gives him away, and Laney laughs beside me—too quickly, too brightly—but it’s a laugh.

She’s putting on a brave face.

For me.

And it kills me a little.

I rest my hand on her thigh under the table, squeezing gently. She doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t lean in either.

I don’t blame her.

And I have no idea how to fix it without exposing all the things I’ve been keeping from her—for her.

And time? It’s almost up.

The restaurant has emptiedout around us, chairs turned up on tables, candles flickering low in their pools of wax. The five of us are still lingering—spread across the back patio under strings of fairy lights and the hum of quiet jazz drifting through the cracked kitchen door. There’s a soft breeze rolling through the hedges that line the courtyard, and the scent of lemon and old wine lingers in the air.

Nico’s sipping from a short tumbler of amaro, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. Lucas and Sam are sharing a dessert they swear they’re too full to eat, stealing bites off each other’s forks while fake-arguing about who finished the last tiramisu.

And then there’s Laney.