"Damien," Celeste said again, her voice sharper this time. "What did she mean?"
He forced a casual breath and finally sat back down, but he didn't meet her eyes right away.
"Nothing," he said. "It's Maureen. You know how she is—bites anything that moves."
Celeste frowned. "No… that felt like something else."
"She's bitter. Jealous. Still hoping you'd fail just so she can laugh first," he added, trying to shrug it off with a crooked smile. "That's always been her thing."
Celeste stared at him, chewing her bottom lip. She didn't fully believe him—but she wanted to. And more than that, she was too tired to press harder.
So she dropped it.
For now.
Damien picked up his fork, forcing lightness back into his voice. "Anyway, you still owe me a real meal. You barely touched this."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Because someone let me drink half the bar last night."
"I rescued you," he said. "I deserve a medal. Or at least half your fries."
She managed a smile, small but real. The atmosphere settled again, but not completely. A faint crack had formed beneath their easy rhythm, a thread of something unspoken.
Damien could feel it—but he wasn't ready to let go of the moment. Not yet. Not when he was this close to maybe mattering.
So he changed the subject. Told another story. Kept her laughing just enough to keep her from noticing how carefully he was avoiding the truth.
The kiss.
The look in Maureen's eyes.
The secret that didn't belong to him, but was now tangled around his heart.