“It doesn’t?” His brows rose. “Are you seriously going to pretend like you don’t know why I would be here?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why.”

He studied me for too long and then said, “He’s not what you want.”

Oh my God, I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. I met his heavy-hooded gaze with a glare. “You need to leave. Now.”

One side of his lips kicked up. “If I know anything, I know what you want and you’ll realize that by the time this night is over.”

There were no words.

“But I actually do have another reason to see you. I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving. Since we’re both going to your parents’ house, we should drive up together.”

Oh, holy shit balls on Sunday, what? “I need a second to process this.”

His lips curved up. “Take your time.”

“First off, this couldn’t have waited to, oh, I don’t know, any other time? And secondly, why are you having Thanksgiving at my parents’ house? You haven’t done that in years.”

“To answer your first point, it was on my mind right now to discuss,” he replied smoothly. “And why am I having dinner at your parents’ house this year? This year is different, but we’ll talk more about this later.”

I opened my mouth.

“I’ll let you get back to your oh-so exciting nice date.” He slipped out of the booth; his gaze drifted over me. “I really wish I could see the rest of you in this dress, because what I see so far is fucking amazing. You look beautiful.”

My mouth continued to hang open.

“Have a nice evening.”

Winking, Brock sauntered down the aisle, passing Grady on the way out. They stopped, exchanged a few words I probably didn’t want to know about, and then Grady was walking toward the table.

He sat down with an odd little laugh. “Well, all that was . . . unexpected.”

All I could do was shake my head helplessly. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what he was doing.”

“I think . . . he was checking up on you.” Grady rubbed a hand over his chest. “He was checking up on us.”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have anything to say, because Brock had never done anything like that before. Ever. Not even on the rare times I had dates when we were young and I’d tell him about them, obviously hoping he’d get jealous and realize he wanted me before someone else had me. Then he didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“How did he know we were here?” he asked.

“Coincidence?” I repeated dumbly.

“You sure about that? Because he just left without picking up any food.”