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I know it’s for show, but why?

Who cares! He’s kissing me.

I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him with my own tenderness and hunger.

He pulls away and runs his hand through his hair. His mouth slides up into a half smile.

I’m frozen in place, afraid I might tip over or trip over thin air if I attempt to move.

Marcus must sense the effect he had on me. He wraps his arm around me and turns us toward Winona and Declan.

“Sorry, Winona,” Marcus says. “O’Connell was being such a nuisance that I got nominated to drive him down here to crash your night. If we’re in the way, we can go do something like a bachelor party for two while y’all keep up whatever it is women do for these things.”

He’s too cute. I wrap my arm around his waist and give him a soft squeeze. He looks down at me, a flash of surprise flitting across his features before it is replaced by a smile.

“No,” Winona says. “Don’t go. You two can come with us. We’re just going hopping down Broadway when we finish dinner. You can hop with us.”

“How did you find us?” I ask Marcus.

“Declan has Winona’s location in an app.” He pauses. “Should I do that to you?”

“Track me?” I say, pulling my arm away from his side so I can cross my arms and stare at him properly.

“Yeah,” he says, his sly smile giving him away. He’s taunting me.

“You just try and track me, Cold Turkey.”

“I just might,” he says.

“Might is about all you’ll do,” I say.

“Okay. Okay,” Winona says. “We get it. Banter is your love language. But it’s my bachelorette, so holster your weapons, you two. Let’s bring a couple more chairs to the table.” She looks at Declan. “Did you eat?”

“I can eat again,” he says.

I look at Marcus.

“I can always eat,” he says.

I laugh. Yeah. He can.

He puts his hand on my lower back, guiding us between tables, smiling at people who greet him. When someone sticks a napkin and pen out in front of him, he smiles down at them and then he looks at me with a questioning expression.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

I think back to how I hated the way he was at Fork and Fiddle. We’ve both changed so much since then. Or maybe he hasn’t changed at all and I got a new pair of glasses. My old ones were as distorted as a funhouse mirror.

The guys order full meals while we order dessert for all eight of us. Marcus slips his hand around the back of my chair and toys with my shoulder, drawing lazy doodles on it with his pointer finger. My lips still hum from our all-too-short kiss.

I sigh and he notices.

He leans close and asks, “Are you doing okay, Cass?”

Oh, he shouldn’t use my name like that. Or speak. Or breathe. Or wear cologne.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

He smiles at me. Shouldn’t do that either.