“You’re quiet tonight,” Bruce said, reaching for my hand across the table.
“Just tired.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“Tomorrow we’ll take it slow. Sleep in. Maybe brunch, just us.”
“Sure,” I said. My smile felt like a mask I had glued on.
Bruce’s phone buzzed against the table.
He glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face for just a second.
“Excuse me,” he said, forcing a smile. “I need to take this.”
Before I could answer, he was already walking toward the terrace outside the restaurant.
Through the glass doors, I watched him lower his voice the moment he answered. He kept turning slightly away, as if making sure no one could read his lips.
A minute later, Jim’s phone lit up too.
He read the message, locked the screen almost immediately, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
