Page 33 of Dreamscape Therapies

Eric considers this. "No."

Aksel laughs under his breath and places a hand at the small of Hale's back, guiding him toward one of the larger booths.

That pretty much sums them up.

Eric is chaos.

Aksel is the calm center of the chaos.

And Hale appears to have accepted that his life will involve managing both of them.

I've known Eric long enough to be immune to most of his bullshit. He's the kind of friend who can walk into your bar unannounced, insult your furniture, steal food off your plate, and somehow leave you feeling like your day was better because he showed up.

Hale is different. He's quieter, sharper, and far more observant. He notices things Eric barrels straight past. If Eric is the person who kicks down the door, Hale is the one standing behind him asking if the door was actually locked in the first place.

I grab menus.

"Booth?"

"Obviously," Eric says.

"Of course."

They settle in while I bring them drinks and Eric orders enough food to feed a small army. Hale and Aksel order normal portions.

"You're not getting the loaded nachos?" Eric asks Hale.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not trying to give birth to a block of cheese."

Aksel snorts into his drink.

"I don’t think that’s how it works, babes."

I leave before I get dragged into whatever the hell this conversation is becoming.

When I come back with their food, Eric is studying me, and I immediately regret returning to their table.

"What?" I finally ask.

He squints. "You look weird."

"Thanks?"

"No, I mean you look less weird."

Hale and Aksel both glance over at me.

"You look lighter."

"I don't know what that means."

"You know exactly what it means." He leans back, crossing his arms. "Normally you look like you're one minor inconvenience away from hanging from the rafters with a short rope over a wobbly stool."

"That's morbid," I grumble.