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“I don’t know yet.” I pick up my fork again, then abandon it because the pasta deserves someone with a steadier hand. “Maybe we start by banning ominous staring for the evening.”
Ezra sets his sketchbook aside. “Bold choice.”
“And necessary.”
“Does brooding count if I’m handsome?”
“Yes.”
“Harsh.”
Theo reaches across the table and turns my hand palm up. His thumb moves once across my wrist, slow and grounding. “I can stop checking the feed for ten minutes.”
“Fifteen,” I counter.
His eyes narrow slightly.
“If you’re bringing daddy energy, I can match it with brattiness.”
Ezra chokes on a laugh.
Theo goes very still.
My face heats with the full force of my own mouth betraying me. “I said that externally.”
“You did,” Ezra says, obviously delighted.
Theo’s thumb pauses over my pulse. His gaze drops there, then returns to my face with a warmth that makes my body forget how to breathe.
“Fifteen minutes,” he says.
I swallow. “Excellent.”
Ezra stands with sudden purpose, crosses to the small speaker on the shelf, and taps his phone. “If we are interrupting the funeral of the pasta, we need music.”
The first bright notes of “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees burst through the living room.
Theo’s expression goes flat.
I stare at Ezra. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Ezra.”
“You said no ominous staring. This is that.”
Theo looks at the ceiling as if appealing to a higher authority. “That song?”
Ezra points at him. “We’re alive. I’m currently visible. Pepper is fully hydrated. The title alone is evidence-based.”
My laugh breaks loose. Theo looks at me when it happens. That’s when he loosens.
He stands with a sigh that fools exactly no one and holds out his hand. “Come here.”
The deep command in his voice curls through me, warm and velvet-edged. I take his hand. “Are you going to dance or supervise rhythm?”
“What do you think?”
