The restaurant Liz dragged me to was one of our usual spots—quiet, tucked into a cozy corner of the city, with mismatched furniture and the best grilled cheese sandwiches I'd ever had. Normally, I would have been more engaged, more relaxed. But today, my mind was somewhere else. Somewhere back home.
With him.
Liz noticed, of course, especially after our talk.
"You've been staring at that sandwich for five minutes," she said, pointing at my plate. "I mean, I know you're dramatic, but it's not that deep."
I blinked, realizing I'd barely taken a bite.
Liz arched a brow, smirking. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
I sighed, finally picking up my sandwich. "No."
Liz leaned in, resting her chin in her hand. "Liar."
I shot her a look, but she just grinned.
"You know," she said casually, swirling her straw in her drink, "you could've just stayed in bed with him and basked in your post-birthday-confession feelings. But no. You ran to me."
