Page 134

Pickles has no such problem.

He shoots through the open door and launches himself at me.

“Hi, buddy.” I laugh as I crouch to scratch behind his ears. “At least somebody’s excited to see me.”

“I’m excited to see you.”

I look up. Wyatt’s watching me from the doorway. There’s no joke attached to it.

I straighten. “Hi.”

“Hey, Peachy.”

He steps aside to let me in, and I take off my shoes while Pickles circles around me like he needs to make sure I don’t disappear again.

Something smells good. I glance toward the kitchen. “Is that Thai?”

“Peace offering.” There’s the faintest hint of his usual smile, but it doesn’t quite make it all the way there.

“I’ll consider accepting your offering.”

I follow him into the kitchen, where takeout containers are already spread across the counter. Wyatt gets plates while I grab silverware from the drawer without thinking about it.

For the first few minutes, we don’t talk about last night at all.

He tells me Jordan nearly took out one of the assistants during practice.

I tell him about the campaign copy I spent most of the afternoon rewriting because my boss decided at four thirty that she hated the version she approved yesterday.

It almost feels normal. But there’s a carefulness between us that normally isn’t there, and eventually Wyatt seems to realize we can’t keep talking about noodles and Jordan forever.

He puts his fork down. “I really am sorry.”

I look up.

“For last night,” he adds. “I was an asshole.”

“You were.”

"Yeah.” His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t try to turn it into a joke. “You came over here because you wanted to make sure I was okay, and I basically made you feel like you were bothering me.”

His on-point perception catches me off guard, and it makes me feel strangely validated that he understands exactly how I felt.

His eyes meet mine across the table, and I can see how much he regrets the way last night went down. “I should’ve just told you I was having a bad day.”

“No shit.”

We both chuckle a little.

I could leave it there. He apologized, and I believe him. I know last night wasn’t really about me.

But I also know it wasn’t just a bad mood.

I turn my glass between my hands. “Are you ready to tell me why you were having such a bad day?”

He blows out a slow breath like he’s readying himself for something. “You know I had a brother.”

I don’t interrupt him. I just wait.