Page 38 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Something happened.
I duck my head and go back to my clipboard, pretending to double-check the rental list. My pen scratches against the paper, but I’m not seeing any of it.
Not when Jake’s standing by the supply table like it might explode. Not when Maya’s unfolding and refolding the same damn linen napkin like it insulted her ancestors.
A few minutes later, Ethan sidles up next to me, drying his arms with a frayed white towel. He smells like lavender and wire cutters, a combo only Ethan could make seem normal. He nods toward the soggy pair near the entry.
“Did the rain catch them?” he asks.
I don’t look up from my clipboard. “Caughtsomething.”
Ethan raises a brow, towel draped over his shoulder now. “Like what?”
“Don’t know yet,” I lie smoothly. “But Jake hasn’t said a single word in fifteen minutes, and Maya just folded the same napkin three times. That’s either stress or post-makeout daze. Possibly both.”
We both glance their way again.
Jake’s currently tangled in a strand of fairy lights, pretending to wrestle with a stubborn knot, but his hands keep missing the obvious loop. Maya’s at the far end of the table, lining up votiveslike she’s building a tiny city, then shifting them an inch left. Then back.
“You think they—” Ethan starts, then cuts himself off, eyes flicking to me. “Again?”
I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t have a theory. But because I have several.
And they’re all variations ofwell, shit.
I don’t know when it started. When something so easy, so chaotic and fun and full of sarcasm turned into this—this electric, untethered,thing. But I feel it every time we pass too close to each other.
Every time Jake’s fingers brush Maya’s and linger a second too long. Every time Ethan glances up mid-conversation like he’s checking to see if anyone else noticed the way Maya smiled at him just then.
Every time Maya looks at me like she’s searching for an answer I haven’t given yet.
It should feel wrong. Or at the very least confusing.
But the weirdest part?
It doesn’t.
It just feels…undecided. Like something not quite written yet. Like a story paused between chapters, all of us waiting for the next page.
I shift in my seat and murmur, “Let’s just keep our eyes open. See where this goes.”
Ethan nods slowly. “You ever think this was going to get so complicated?”
I snort softly. “You mean this fucking wedding, or everything else?”
His grin is small. “Take your pick.”
Before I can reply, the clatter of ceramic cuts through the quiet.
Maya drops a candle.
It doesn’t break, but it hits the wooden table with a sharp, hollowclinkthat makes all three of us jolt. Her hand freezes where it hovers above the table, her shoulders stiff.
“Sorry,” she mutters, not looking at any of us as she scoops it up and sets it back into its holder.
Jake’s head snaps up from across the room. His eyes flick to Maya like he felt the sound in his chest, but she’s already turned her back, moving toward the next table.
Yeah.
