I stop short and pull him close, then slip my fingers through his. God, whatever cologne he’s wearing smells amazing. It’s crisp and citrusy and hits my nose in the same way peppermint hits my tongue: like a burst of energy that recedes quickly and lingers in this satisfyingly muted state. Dammit. Why couldn’t he smell like funky gym socks—or a teenage boy’s bedroom? Now that I think about it, I suppose those are similar odors if Rey’s childhood grooming habits are any guide.

I give Dean’s hand a playful squeeze, then stroke his jaw. “Someone’s feeling sassy tonight, I see. Keep that same energy as we talk to these two, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” he says, his chest rising as he takes a small breath, then releases it slowly. I suspect I’m not meant to see the effort, but I notice it just the same. Well. My touch affected him. Isn’t that interesting?

No, Brain, it’s not interesting at all. What the hell is wrong with you? The man recently experienced a painful breakup and needs space to recover. You couldn’t custom-design a man more emotionally unavailable than this one, so get those non-platonic thoughts out of my head right now.

The woman straightens in her chair as we approach, her eyes widening in interest.

“Hey,” I say, careful to make eye contact with them both. “The bar’s packed, so we were wondering if you’d mind sharing a table.”

They exchange a glance, then the man slides the empty cocktail glasses off to one side. “We don’t mind at all. Join us.”

“I’m Brynn,” the woman says. “This is Jaxson.”

Her tone’s welcoming, and her partner’s wearing a half smile. We sit across from them, Brynn to my right, and Jaxson to Dean’s left.

“Nice to meet you, Brynn. My name’s Solange, and this is my boyfriend, Dean.”

Now that only a few feet separate us, I’d put their ages at closer to midthirties. There’s an air of sophistication in their demeanor, and our arrival didn’t appear to unnerve either one. They’re secure in their relationship, it seems, or maybe just confident in each other’s tastes. I peek at their hands and notice they’re both wearing gold bands.

“Are you guys married?” I ask, leaning in so I can be heard over the music pumping through Sip City’s surround speakers.

“We are,” Brynn says, placing a hand over Jaxson’s. “Ten years. What about you two?”

“Just dating,” Dean says as he casually rests his arm on the back of my chair.

Just? Oh dear. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And sweet Jesus, he looks so proud of himself too. Look, Ma! I’m pretending to be her boyfriend!