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Her expression changes.

Something quieter settles between us.

“You're welcome.”

I pull her closer.

And this time, when I kiss her, I don't bother pretending I'm in any hurry to stop.

Dinner turns out to be better than anything I could've ordered.

Mostly because it's Mrs. Beckett's cooking. But also because Delaney's sitting across from me at the island, stealing bites from my plate even though hers is practically identical.

I don't bother pointing that out.

She's been doing it since she was a kid. Some habits are apparently permanent.

“So,” she says, reaching for her water, “how does it feel?”

“What?”

“Being twenty-eight.”

“Terrible.”

She laughs.

“Really?”

“Everything hurts.”

“You played hockey yesterday.”

“Exactly.”

She shakes her head. “You're impossible.”

“Yet here you are.”

Her smile softens. “Here I am.”

The words settle somewhere deep in my chest.

I look down at my plate.

For a while, we eat without talking.

It's easy.

That's the problem. Everything with Laney has started feeling too fucking easy.

Having her here.

Waking up beside her.

Hearing her laugh from the other side of the apartment.

Knowing she'll be in the kitchen when I get home.