Page 89 of Smoke and Glitter

Instead of hello, he says, "You look tired."

I stop in front of him. "You rerouted through London so you could insult me over dinner?"

Jake's mouth twitches. Then he steps around the table and pulls me into a hug. "I've missed you, Hayes."

That takes care of whatever I was about to say.

Jake and I have been friends since we were pre-teens, which means most of our love language consists of insults, showing up when something goes wrong and remembering information the other person would prefer forgotten. His arms stay around me long enough that I stop standing there like I've been tackled and hug him back.

When he lets go, he studies me again. I head him off. "You already used tired. You don't get a follow-up."

Jake thinks better of whatever comes next and pulls out the chair across from his. There's a plate of fish and chips waiting at my place.

I look at it, then at him.

"You ordered for me."

"You always get fish and chips."

The familiarity catches me somewhere I don't expect. Jake has been ordering for me since we were teenagers and had enough money between us to share a pizza. It has nothing to do with Sam, but I'm four thousand miles from Chicago and somebody knew what I would choose before I got here.

I sit down. "Thank you."

Jake takes his seat across from me. "That sounded painful."

"Don't ruin it."

For a while, he doesn't. We eat. Somewhere between his second chip and my first complaint about the amount of vinegar he's putting on everything, we fall back into the version of us that doesn't have to catch up in order.

He tells me about someone at his firm sending privileged documents to the wrong client and the six attorneys who spent the better part of a night trying to contain it. By the time he gets to the partner who discovered what happened, I'm laughing hard enough that I have to put my fork down.

"You're enjoying this too much," he says.

"I'm enjoying it exactly the right amount."

"A man almost lost his job."

"And yet you're telling the story with the enthusiasm of somebody describing a car accident he wasn't in."

Jake considers that. "That's fair."

It feels good to hear him tell me something that has nothing to do with Chicago, Sam or why I left. Just Jake being Jake, halfway through a story and already annoyed because I've interrupted it three times.

When he finally finishes, he steals one of my chips and asks, "Do you actually like it here?"

The question catches me differently than How's London? would have.

I look past him toward the windows. "Yeah. I do."

His eyebrows lift.

"Don't look so surprised."

"I'm not surprised. You sound surprised."

I think about that while I pull apart another piece of fish. "Maybe I am. I thought it would feel more temporary than it does. Instead I've started figuring out where things are without checking my phone first. I have a coffee place. I know which route home I hate. There are parts of the city I recognize now instead of just moving through them."

Jake watches me while I talk, that familiar little crease appearing between his eyebrows.