Putting the car in drive, I stared ahead, wondering if this whole breakfast thing was just a way to keep the peace or if she genuinely didn’t remember everything from last night.

Beverly leaned back, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “Thanks for driving.”

I gave her a wink but didn’t respond, just kept driving down the street. I wasn’t sure what to do with her yet. Her texts last night had been a soft landing after the absolute mess she’d made.

She shot me a glance, her lips twitching. “You’re in a better mood than I expected.”

“And what exactly were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” Beverly shrugged. “Grumpy, brooding Blake? The one who gives me long, dramatic silence?”

“I don’t do that.”

She hummed under her breath, almost like she was trying to fill the space, but it didn’t really do anything to break the tension. Then, casually, she asked, “So, did you have any fun last night?”

I shot her a look. She was testing me. Again.

“I mean, it was your first party, right?”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “It was a blast.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah? What was the highlight?”

“Leaving.”

“Not the part where Rachel climbed into your lap?”

“Drop it, B.”

“Or the part where you told me to dance for you?”

I sighed through my nose. “Beverly.”

She chuckled. “Or the part where I actually⁠—”

“You’re pushing it,” I warned, keeping my eyes on the road.

She poked me in the side. “You’re so fun to mess with.”

I shook my head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

She stretched out in her seat, sighing contentedly. “And yet, here you are, driving me to McDonald’s on a Sunday morning.”

I didn’t respond.

Because she was right. And that was the problem.

Eventually, the golden arches of McDonald’s came into view, standing out like a beacon in the morning fog. I slowed the car as we approached the drive-thru. I glanced at the menu, trying to act like I wasn’t as familiar with it as she was.

A crackling voice broke the silence. “Hi, welcome to McDonald’s! What can I get for you today?”

“Three pancakes, a side of hash browns, and an orange juice,” I told the intercom.

Beverly turned to me with a slow smile. “You remembered my order.”

“You get the same thing every time.”

She leaned forward, her hands folding in her lap as she looked toward the speaker. “And a sausage egg McMuffin,” she added confidently.

“No, just the pancakes, hash browns, and orange juice,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if the voice on the other end even heard me. It didn’t matter. Beverly was already staring at me, her mouth parted in stunned confusion.

“What?” she finally said, her voice a little higher than usual. “You love the McMuffin.”