“Am I interrupting?” Emma asks, joining me at my side and sliding her arm around my waist.

“Hey, honey,” I say brightly, grateful for her stepping in. “This is Shelby.”

“Henry was telling me you two are dating. That’s so unusual for him! Congratulations on being the one to wear him down enough to finally commit,” Shelby says. I can hear the maliciousness behind the statement.

Emma doesn’t take the bait, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a placid shrug. “We should get back to the table, sweetie. I’m sure they’re wondering where their drinks are. Shelby, it was lovely to meet you. Have a good rest of your night.”

My eyes widen at the dismissal, and I grab the tray off the counter and follow her back to our table, my free hand laced with hers the whole way.

“Baby, I like that bossy voice of yours,” I say lowly. “It was hot as fuck. I could get behind possessive Emma.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Oh, both, sweetheart. Obviously. Maybe next we need to have you telling me what to do in the bedroom.”

“Please don’t tell me you two banged in the bathroom and that’s why the drinks took so long,” Noah groans, helping to distribute the fresh beverages.

“We didn’t, but thanks for the idea. Now I kind of want to. We ran into someone at the bar.”

“Who?” Patrick asks curiously as we take our seats. I pause, dreading saying the name. It’s not like I can lie and brush it off, though. Emma was right there and saw the whole thing.

“Shelby,” I say as casually as possible.

“Oh, shit. I’m surprised you didn’t bang her in the bathroom,” Neil laughs, and I feel Emma tense beside me. “Wait. You did before, right? She was the only girl you were with more than once before Em—hey! Why are you pinching me?” he exclaims, jumping as Rebeca scowls at him. “It’s not my fault it took him 31 years to finally be consistent with the same woman and finally turned down the girl he used to sleep with once a month! She was always my least favorite. Emma, you’re substantially better.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she mutters, downing her glass of wine in three gulps.

“Can we drop this conversation, please?” I ask. I must sound pathetic, because Jo launches into a whole story about her and Jack babysitting her best friend’s kid, both of them covered head to toe in throw up and poop. It diverts the attention away from Neil’s comment, but I can tell something is wrong.

Shit.

Emma is much quieter now. Her behavior has noticeably shifted.

There are no more smiles. No more laughter. Her eyes have grown dimmer since we sat back down, and she doesn’t hold my hand under the table, keeping her palms folded in her lap and out of my reach.