And then Soren. Soren, who has been sitting next to me with his fingers on my arm this whole time, who hasn't said a word. His expression goes so soft it's almost unbearable.
"How long have you liked him?" he asks. Nothow long have you been bonded. How long have youlikedhim. Because Soren is the romantic, and he already knows there's a longer story underneath the biology.
"Years," I say, my voice cracking on the word. "Since the first time I saw him."
I have to look away, because if I keep looking at the way Soren's eyes just got bright, I'm going to lose it completely. The evening's vulnerability quota is well and truly met.
"That's so nice," Soren says, his voice thick with the earnestness of someone who believes in fairy tales because he's watching one happen. "That's already a love story."
The energy shifts. Questions come from every direction, but they're different now—excited instead of suspicious. Jude wants the timeline. "The dinner? At Ava's? Was it like a secret sexy hookup, or?"
Benji wants to know practical things. "Can he cook? Does he do his own laundry? Red flags, Milo, I need red flags."
Shay asks about living arrangements with the casual efficiency of someone filling out a lease agreement.
Soren wants to hear about the scent recognition, and I tell him—the bathroom, the cut, Callum's hands on my wrist—and his eyes get bigger with every detail.
"You're telling me heknottedyou and you didn't text us immediately?" Jude is outraged on an entirely new level now. "I've texted you within minutes of my knot with Rhys!"
"He's textedduring," Rhys says from his side of the booth, dry and unfazed.
I'm laughing. I'm actually laughing, sitting in this booth, surrounded by my friends who are roasting me and celebrating me and asking about my sex life with the complete lack of boundaries that makes the group what it is. The weight I've been carrying is gone. Not gradually—all at once, like someone opened a valve and the pressure just released.
They're delighted. Jude is already planning a double date. Benji is already composing a list of threats to deliver to Callum in person. Soren is glowing. Shay is pretending not to care and failing spectacularly.
I remember the text from Ava. Benji notices me reaching for my phone and says, sharp as a knife, "Tell me you've answered that girl."
"I'm...going to."
"You're going to right now," Jude says. "You are not ghosting her on top of everything else, Milo Reyes."
"She's not going to bite your head off," Soren says softly.
I pull out my phone. The text is still sitting there—We should talk soon—and the wordghostingechoes in my head because that's exactly what I've been doing. Not replying. Letting the silence stretch. Waiting for some perfect version of the conversation to materialize so I don't have to feel the messy, vulnerable one. It's the exact pattern I'm most afraid of in other people—the disappearing, the avoidance—and I've been doing it to Ava for days.
I'm not going to be that person.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. For a second, I almost type something easy.Hey, sorry, been busy, let's catch up!Something breezy and non-committal that would buy me another day of not having to be honest. But I just sat in this booth and told these people the truth, and the world rearranged instead of ending. Ava deserves the same version of me. The real one. Not the one who hides behind excuses.
I type the honest thing instead.
Hey. I'm sorry I've been weird. Can we get coffee soon? I have a lot to tell you. And I'm sorry.
I hit send. Jude cheers, Benji says "about damn time," Soren squeezes my arm, and Shay gives me the smallest nod I've ever seen a human produce.
The evening winds down. Declan drifts by to clear glasses, catches my eye, and gives me a nod again. Shay is looking at his phone when Declan passes, missing the nod entirely, but heshifts in his seat as the bar owner goes by in a way that he'd definitely deny if you pointed it out.
People start gathering jackets. Jude is yelling something from the end of the booth about a group dinner with Callum. Benji stands, shrugs on his jacket, and pauses near the door. "If he hurts you, I have a shovel and an alibi." He says it flat and sincere, and then he's gone.
Soren squeezes my arm one last time on his way out. His smile is the kind that makes you believe in things, and he doesn't say anything because he doesn't need to.
My phone buzzes.
That works. And Milo? I'm happy for you.
I sit in the booth. The bar is emptying out. The glasses are cleared, Declan is wiping down the counter, and somewhere through the speakers, an acoustic song plays low. I read the text one more time.
I'm happy for you.