Page 52

It's not a coincidence. It's not chance. It's a statement.

She knows I'm here, and she wants me to know she's always watching.

I freeze, my fingers tightening around the menu. The café suddenly feels too warm, too loud, the clinking of silverware against plates grating against my ears.

I force myself to breathe, to keep my expression neutral. The last thing I need is my brothers catching onto anything. If they notice Vanessa, it's game over. There'll be questions, ones I can't answer without admitting everything.

Even as I'm thinking, Vanessa pushes her chair back, stands up, and leaves.

"Ava?"

Dean's voice pulls me back, sharp with concern.

I blink, snapping my gaze back to my brothers. Ryan's eyes narrow, Nate's brows lift, and Dean… Dean is watching me too closely.

Shit.

I swallow and force a casual smile. "What?"

"You zoned out," Nate says, amusement laced in his voice, but his eyes scan me like he's analyzing.

I wave a hand. "Just thinking about what I want to order."

It's a weak excuse, and they all know it.

Dean tilts his head slightly. "You okay?"

I nod too quickly. "Fine. Totally fine."

Ryan's gaze flickers to where Vanessa was sitting. "You sure?"

My pulse spikes. Does he know? Did he see?

I force out a laugh, reaching for my water glass. "Seriously, I'm fine. Just tired."

They don't look convinced, but thankfully, our waitress arrives before they can push the issue further.

Still, as I place my order, my mind isn't on my brothers anymore.

It's on Vanessa. On the way she sat there, effortlessly composed, like she belonged here. Like she wasn't even worried about being seen by my brothers who abhor her.

I've barely taken a sip of my water before Ryan is eyeing me like he's about to interrogate a suspect.

Which, knowing him, isn't far from the truth.

"So," he starts, swirling the ice in his glass, "you never did tell us how things are going with Carter."

I nearly choke on my drink.

Out of all the topics in the world—sports, family gossip, why Dean insists on ordering the same damn omelet every time we eat here—Ryan chooses this?

I place my glass down, forcing what I hope is a casual smile. "Going?"

Ryan tilts his head, unimpressed. "Yes, Ava. Going."

My mind scrambles for a neutral response, something light and vague that won't trigger their overprotective instincts, but I can already feel the weight of their collective attention shifting toward me.

Dean, ever the observant one, leans forward slightly. "You've been acting weird lately."