"Nope. You only get one 'you’re right' a day. You’re officially cut off." He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me with him into the crowd.

***

The show’s hilarious. At one point, a performer named Areola Grande, drags Caleb on stage and buries his face in their giant fake boobs. I caught it all on camera and I will be replaying that for him later. I lose it laughing, and Caleb’s still raving about it on our walk back to the hotel.

We decide to chill for a bit—get out of the sun, catch up on Brooklyn 99, maybe nap before tonight. Sarah’s clearly off-grid for now.

Caleb convinces me to try something other than my usual chicken fingers. I settle on a Caesar wrap.

"That’s just chicken fingers in a tortilla, dude." He laughs.

Somehow, somewhere between yesterday and now, I stopped hating him so much. As much as I hate to admit it, the line’s getting blurry.

I keep side-eyeing him as we eat. He’s sitting on the floor, topless, biting into his burger like a wild animal. His shoulder blades shift with every bite, muscles tensing and relaxing. His dark hair falling around his face every time he goes in. He moves his hand up and threads his fingers through his hair, flipping his hair over to one side.

A wave of confusing, intense feelings crash over me. I’ve got to distract myself.

"What do you do for work?" I blurt out.

He pauses mid-bite. "I work for my dad."

"Ah, Edward. How’s Mr. Brown?" I lean back, trying to play it casual.

He shrugs. "Fine, I guess."

His tone doesn’t match his answer.

"Just fine? Could’ve fooled me with the way you toss money around." I laugh.

But Caleb doesn’t. His expression dims.

"The money’s great. The expectations... not so much."

Okay, got it. Touchy subject.

"So tell him that."

"It’s not that simple. Since Mom left him, I’m all he has. If I turn my back on the grand plan, I disappoint him…and that’s not something I can risk."

I shift closer, setting my plate down. My fingers sweep crumbs from my shorts, just something to do.

"He's your dad. He might be disappointed for a while, but he won’t stop loving you. That’s not how parents work. Not real ones."

Caleb gives me a soft smile. "It’s cute that you think you know my dad."

"Maybe I don’t. But I can’t picture him just... giving up on you. You’re his kid."

He nods, slowly. Then turns to fully face me.

"What about you? What do you do?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I work for a pretty high-performing investment group as an Administrative Assistant. Been there for about a year."

Caleb studies me. Like he’s trying to peel something back. I feel the nerves creeping up my spine. The truth gnawing at me and scratching my skin.

"Okay, I fucking hate it," I blurt out. I haven’t said that out loud and it feels like a whole weight just drops off my shoulders.