Page 6 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

And because he had the timing of a master, he looked back just in time to catch my stare lingering on his ass as he walked away.

He winked and went behind the bar to fix Elliott a glass of water.

I refused to look up as he came back to the table, setting the glass gently in front of Elliott before turning on his heel and heading back to the bar for the cocktail, because after getting caught staring at his ass, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes .

I didn’t need to look up to know exactly what expression Elliott was wearing. The one that radiated smug amusement. The one that only a friend who has known me far too well for far too long could give.

“If you say one word…” I warned, already feeling my patience thinning before the conversation even started.

Elliott, who had perfected the fine art of tormenting me for his own entertainment, took a slow, deliberate sip of his water. The kind of sip that said I am absolutely about to say something you will hate.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said smoothly.

I finally glanced his way, delivering a side-eye that could’ve floored anyone with thinner skin.

“You’re thinking it.” He placed his cup down with theatrical care, the clink loud in the quiet space drawing out the moment like he was savoring it.

He’s clearly been around Jules too much.

It was a performance, an opening act for whatever insufferable observation was about to follow.

“All I’m saying is,” he started, far too casual to be trusted, “for someone who was ‘definitely not coming back’ after the first visit, you sure are here a lot.”

I scowled, gripping my coffee mug a little too tightly. God, I walked right into this.

“It’s good coffee,” I said, because that was logical. That was a normal, reasonable explanation.

Elliott gave me a long, unimpressed stare, the kind that communicated, without a single word, just how full of shit he thought I was. I had seen that look a hundred times before, in every moment where he thought I was being an idiot but was too entertained to stop me.

“Sure,” he said, dragging out the word in a way that made my skin itch. “It’s definitely the coffee and not the charming, gorgeous, and charismatic waiter who clearly has a thing for you.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, pinching the bridge of my nose as my head throbbed with an oncoming migraine. “He flirts with everyone.”

Elliott lifted an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh. “Mmhmm. And yet, you’re glaring at him like a man questioning every life decision that led him to this moment.”

“I wasn’t glaring. I was observing.” There was a difference… right?

I huffed, shifting in my seat, and made the mistake of letting my focus drift toward the front of the Bistro.

Evan was behind the bar, sliding a glass of wine toward a customer. He smiled at something they said, head tilting slightly, dark brown hair tousled just the right amount, annoyingly perfect, just like the rest of him.

I looked away quickly, jaw tightening. I was not glaring.

Elliott, of course, had the audacity to smile, resting his chin in his hand like he was enjoying this way too much.

I was not staring at Evan. Except… I absolutely was.

I dragged my attention back to my laptop screen, fingers poised above the keys in a way that suggested productivity, even though I hadn’t typed anything in ten minutes.

Elliott didn’t say anything at first. He just watched me with that maddening, knowing look he’d perfected over the years.

We’d known each other long enough that he’d seen me at my worst and tolerated me at my best. He was one of the few people who knew how much of my sarcasm was armor, how my being perpetually perturbed was mostly just an act.

A way to keep the world at a safe distance.

But this? This wasn’t that.

“You like him,” Elliott said finally, voice soft but annoyingly smug.

I snorted. “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing that thing where you act irritated, but your foot’s bouncing and you haven’t touched your coffee in five minutes. That’s Noah Patel when he is interested. I’ve seen it maybe twice.”

I glared at him, but it didn’t have much bite.

“Look,” he continued, sitting back a little.

“Don’t give me that face. You don’t have to admit anything.

But I’ve known you for a few years now. You don’t watch people the way you watch him unless you’re trying really hard not to admit how much you want to get to know them.

I saw that look when you first met Mark.

I know that is not what you want to hear.

I know we said we wouldn’t talk about the asshole.

But I am talking about you. So maybe stop pretending it’s just the coffee that keeps bringing you here. ”

He paused, just long enough for it to land. “I know things haven’t exactly been smooth for you when it comes to relationships, or commitment, but maybe it’s time to get back in the saddle. Try again. Let someone else try it with you.”

I stared at the screen again, the cursor blinking in a silent I-told-you-so.

He wasn’t wrong.

And that annoyed me most of all.

But instead of snapping back, I just stated, “He’s… a lot. ”

Elliott’s smile softened. “Yeah. And maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Damn him.

Across the Bistro, Evan leaned against a high-top table, one arm braced casually against the polished wood, his body angled just enough to pull his audience in.

I hated that I noticed.

He turned, making his way back toward our booth, a short glass in hand, the deep amber red of the blood orange bourbon smash catching in the dim restaurant lighting.

He slid it in front of Elliott giving him a small, knowing nod. “There you go, one of our best cocktails. Bourbon, blood orange, a little rosemary, just enough bite to keep things interesting.” He smiled. “Try not to look too impressed, Elliott.”

Elliott lifted the glass, rolling it once in his hand, the sprig of rosemary releasing the faintest whiff of citrus and sage. He took a thoughtful sip, humming in appreciation before setting it back down with a satisfied clink.

Evan chuckled and shifted effortlessly, already scanning the floor like his next move had been calculated before he even finished speaking. With one last lingering glance in my direction, he stepped away, weaving through the tables with that same ridiculous ease.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Two women who were probably in their thirties were practically preening under his attention at the bar, were eating it up, their eyes bright, their smiles too wide. They leaned in with every word, laughing too quickly at something he said.

And me? My jaw clenched. Something in my chest twisted, tight and unfamiliar, leaving an uncomfortable weight in its wake.

It was irritating. Not just him, but the entire situation. The way people gravitated toward him, the casual charm, the stupid, effortless charisma. None of it should have mattered.

And yet…

It didn’t matter. It absolutely didn’t.

Beside me, Elliott let out the slowest, most satisfied sigh of his entire life. “Oh, this is so much better than I imagined,” he chuckled, his voice practically dripping with delight.

I had exactly two minutes to recover before Evan materialized, sliding effortlessly into the booth beside Elliott as if he had been invited .

Elliott barely acknowledged him, still savoring his cocktail with the kind of thoughtful consideration that made it clear he was going to draw out his verdict for maximum effect.

Evan, however, had no patience for the waiting game.

His arm stretched across the back of the booth as he leaned in, posture relaxed and sure of himself.

“So, Brooks,” he drawled, his attention fully on Elliott for once.

“Am I about to be awarded a gold star for my impeccable drink recommendation, or do I need to prepare myself for heartbreak?”

I narrowed my eyes, not entirely convinced he wasn’t here just to antagonize me.

Elliott took his time, swirling the blood orange bourbon smash in his glass, watching the ice catch the light before taking another measured sip. He made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head as if deeply considering his next words.

“Well,” he finally said, setting the drink down with exaggerated care. “It has a good balance. The citrus is fresh, the bourbon isn’t overpowering, and the hint of rosemary gives it an interesting complexity.” He pondered for a moment. “I’d give it an eight out of ten.”

Evan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “An eight? What would’ve pushed it to a ten?”

Elliott shrugged, settling back in his seat. “A bigger glass.”

Evan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” Elliott agreed, smirking over the rim of his drink.

I just started to think I might get out of this unscathed when Evan, with the effortless charm that made him impossible to ignore, turned his gaze to me. “Miss me?” he asked, grinning like a man who had just caught his prey and was enjoying it.

I stared, expression flat. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Evan tilted his head slightly, the picture of pure, unbothered confidence. “I am,” he said smoothly. “This is customer engagement.”

I let out a breath, already exhausted. “And I assume you engage all customers like this?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Nope. Just the cute, broody ones.”

My brain short-circuited. Cute? The words landed like a sucker punch to my chest, knocking the air from my lungs in one swift, merciless blow.

Elliott, meanwhile, was barely concealing his amusement, watching the exchange unfold like he had front-row seats to his favorite drama .

And then Evan gave me that damn smirk again and said, “I assume you glare at all waitstaff with this much intensity, or am I just special?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.