I take another sip of my pint, focusing on the condensation on the glass. The way it gathers. The way it falls. Predictable. Manageable.
Unlike her.
Christina exists at a volume I don’t understand.
She moves through the world like it belongs to her. Like every space is somewhere she has the right to stand. She laughs loudly. Talks easily. Looks people directly in the eye.
Looks me directly in the eye.
It’s not that she’s intimidating.
It’s that she sees me.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
“Emms will be here in a minute,” Alex says, confirming my suspicion. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I shrug. “No.”
Because what else am I going to say?
He studies me for a second like he knows I’m lying, then lets it go.
I try to focus on the match. I really do. But my attention keeps slipping towards the door every time it opens. Every time cold air rushes in with the next arrival.
Then she walks in.
Emma first, scanning the room until she spots us. And behind her—
Christina.
She’s wearing dark jeans and a loose jumper that slips off one shoulder, exposing warm brown skin that catches the light. Her hair falls in thick waves, streaked with muted lilac that shouldn’t work but somehow does. It frames her face, draws attention to her dark eyes.
She sees me looking.
And she smiles.
It hits like stepping too close to the edge of something high.
Emma reaches Alex and he immediately pulls her onto his lap, like gravity works differently for them. She laughs, protesting weakly, but settles against him easily, naturally.
Christina steps closer.
“Hey, Bambi.”
Her voice is warm. Teasing. Familiar.
Before I can react, she rests her hand briefly on my shoulder. Casual contact. Nothing dramatic.
Except my entire body notices.
Every nerve ending seems to turn towards her.
“Someone’s in my seat,” she says lightly, glancing at the crowded chairs.
There isn’tspace.
Not unless—