Page 130 of Can't Always Get What You Want

The room is beginning to buzz around us. People are filing in faster now—bigger groups, louder laughter, the sound of glasses clinking and chairs scraping.

Luca keeps his body angled toward mine, blocking out the noise. I glance down at his hand, aching to hold it.

I think about it for a second too long.

And then?—

“Nova?”

Everything inside me freezes.

Luca’s head swivels toward the voice. Mine does too, heart plunging into my ass.

Gio stands a few feet from our barstools, eyes darting from me to Luca, to where our knees are very much touching, to Luca’s hand on my leg.

“Babineaux—what are you guys doing here?”

Luca’s hand vanishes from my thigh like it’s been burned, and I swing around on the barstool so fast I nearly knock over my margarita with my elbow.

“Gio!” I say too brightly. So loud. My voice is so high-pitched it could shatter glass. “Hey! Wow—what are you doing here?”

My brother blinks as if I’ve lost my damn mind. “Uh—picking up food?”

Right. Because this is a restaurant.

That serves food.

Like restaurants do.

I grab my drink and nearly slosh it onto the counter. “Same. I mean—not picking up—but I was going to! I was going to get takeout. To bring to you and Austin. As a surprise. You know, a postpartum treat. Because you guys deserve it.”

I am very aware that I am babbling.

Beside me, Luca shifts on his barstool, body rigid.

“Well, imagine the coincidence!” I press on, determined to bury myself deeper. “Running into Luca here! Totally random, right?”

I glance sideways at Luca, daring him to go along with it.

He meets my gaze, amused and vaguely impressed. “Yeah,” he drawls slowly. “Totally random.”

Gio is looking at both of us like we’ve grown extra heads. “You two... just happened to be at the same place. At the same time.”

“Yup!” I pop the “p.” “Crazy, right?”

Luca nods. “Wild.”

I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. “Life is full of surprises.”

Gio’s eyes narrow.

No one speaks for a beat too long. I can feel the tension radiating off my brother like steam from a pressure cooker.

“So…” he says, shifting his takeout bag to the other hand. “You bumped into each other. And decided to sit. At the bar. Together.”

“Exactly.” I’m glad he understands.

“Right next to each other.”

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