Adam didn't move at first.
He just looked.
Not in a longing way. Not in a dramatic slow-motion way. Just… registering.
Across the restaurant, under warm gold lighting and expensive glassware, Bianca stood near the host stand like she belonged in the building blueprint.
Her hair fell perfectly down her back, glossy and intentional. Her dress hugged her in a way that screamed barbie doll.
Her laugh—sharp, bright, slightly too loud—cut through the soft music like a champagne cork popping.
Kara's stomach flipped.
"Don't look," she muttered under her breath.
"I'm not," Adam said.
"You are."
"…Okay, a little."
Kara immediately leaned forward, subtly angling her body so her hair shielded part of her face. She reached for her water like it was tactical equipment.
"Relax," Adam murmured. "She hasn't seen us."
Bianca and her friend were led to a table not too far away. Close enough to be in peripheral vision. Far enough that you could pretend it was coincidence.
Kara wished she could crawl under the table. "This is fine," she whispered. "This is normal. This is what mature people do. We coexist."
"You're narrating," Adam said.
"I'm coping."
The waiter returned smoothly, setting down Adam's drink.
Adam's cocktail looked like a science experiment—amber liquid in a short glass with a perfectly square ice cube and a slice of orange balanced like modern art.
Kara's water sparkled judgmentally.
"Are we ready to order?" the waiter asked politely.
"Yes," Adam said before Kara could spiral again.
They ordered—Adam something bold and expensive-sounding, Kara sticking to pasta like it was a lifeline.
When the waiter left, Kara exhaled slowly.
She was hyperaware now.
Every laugh from Bianca's table made her shoulders tense. Every flicker of movement in that direction felt amplified.
Adam nudged his drink toward her.
"Try it."
"What?"
"Try it. Distract yourself."
She eyed the glass suspiciously. "If this tastes like expensive shit, I'm blaming you."
"It doesn't."
She picked it up carefully and took a small sip.
Her eyebrows shot up.
"…Oh."
"Good?"
"That's actually—shit. That's really good."
Adam grinned. "Told you."
She took another sip, smaller this time, and handed it back.
"It tastes expensive," she said.
"That's because it is."
"Of course it is."
They fell into conversation again—about the drink, about how absurd the garnish looked, about whether bartenders secretly judged people based on what they ordered.
"Vodka cranberry is only ordered by people who wanna fit in or have nothing else to order," Kara said.
Adam laughed. "And what does mine scream?"
"'I pretend to understand jazz.'"
He clutched his chest. "Rude."
While she was mid-rant about cocktail stereotypes, Adam's hand slipped briefly under the table.
Kara didn't notice at first.
He glanced down quickly—thumb moving across his phone screen—then slid it back into his pocket like nothing happened.
When he looked up again, his expression was casual.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"You just did something."
"No, I didn't."
"You did. I saw the suspicious eyebrow movement."
He smirked. "You're paranoid."
She narrowed her eyes but let it go.
Two minutes later, Bianca stood from her table.
Kara's heart dropped into her stomach.
"She's moving," she whispered.
Adam glanced subtly.
Bianca walked past their booth toward the hallway leading to the washrooms. She was mid-sentence with her friend, laughing—
—and then she stopped.
Her gaze flicked sideways.
Locked.
Recognition sparked instantly.
"Oh," Bianca said, her lips curving slowly.
Kara felt it before she looked up. That shift in air. That tightening in her spine.
Bianca turned fully toward their table.
"Well," she said sweetly, stepping closer. "Good to see you again, Adam."
Adam's posture shifted—straighter, guarded but calm.
"Hey," he said evenly.
Bianca rested a hand lightly on the edge of their table, leaning just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Enough to be deliberate.
"I didn't expect to run into you here," she said, voice softening into something honeyed. "This place is… selective."
Kara's jaw tightened.
Adam didn't bite. "It's a restaurant."
Bianca laughed lightly, eyes never leaving his.
"You always did undersell yourself."
She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Every movement precise. Practiced.
"You look good," she added.
Adam didn't smile.
"Thanks."
Bianca's gaze finally drifted to Kara.
Slow.
Measured.
Up. Down. Assessing.
The smirk came easily.
"Oh," she said. "Hi."
Kara straightened instinctively. "Hi."
Bianca's smile sharpened. "You clean up well."
Kara blinked. "…Thanks?"
"It's just," Bianca continued lightly, "I almost didn't recognize you. It's amazing what lighting and a decent dress can do."
There it was.
That polished, passive-aggressive slice.
Adam's jaw ticked slightly.
Kara forced a tight smile. "Yeah. It's amazing what personality can't fix."
Bianca's eyes flickered.
"Oh," she laughed softly. "Still bitchy."
She turned back to Adam, ignoring Kara like she'd been reduced to background décor.
"I've been meaning to text you," Bianca said. "We should catch up properly sometime. Without… distractions."
Her hand gestured vaguely in Kara's direction without looking.
Adam's voice stayed calm. "I'm good."
Bianca blinked once.
Then smiled wider.
"That's cute," she said. "You've always liked projects."
Kara felt heat rise to her face. "Excuse me?" she said sharply.
Bianca finally gave her full attention.
"You're very… intense," Bianca said smoothly. "It's admirable. I just hope you don't burn out trying to keep up."
Adam's chair scraped slightly as he shifted.
"That's enough," he said quietly.
Bianca ignored him.
"It must be exhausting," she continued, voice light as silk. "Trying to fit into places like this."
Kara stared at her for half a second.
Then smiled.
Not tight.
Not nervous.
Sharp.
"Actually," Kara said evenly, "the only exhausting thing here is watching you pretend you're not desperate for some dick."
Silence.
The music kept playing.
Glasses clinked somewhere across the room.
Bianca's smile didn't fall—but it hardened.
Adam looked between them, tension coiling in the space like a wire pulled too tight.