My eyes dart to Kiera, watching her as she watches them, and then she lets him kiss her cheek too.
“What can I do?” Hayes asks.
“The meatballs,” Sofia says, pointing to the lower of her double ovens.
“On it,” Hayes says, grabbing some oven mitts.
Kiera is walking towards me now, so I reach for her and pull her into me, unable to stop myself from leaning into her neck to smell the fresh scent of her hair. “Hey,” she says. “I think I missed you.”
I laugh a little, kissing her neck. “I think I missed you too.”
I glance at Hayes and Sofia, wondering what they’re thinking about. Wondering if they’ve noticed the way I have that we’ve paired up. That foursome we had last night is feeling very far away now. Like a dream or something.
But they’re not even looking at us. Way too busy with dinner. Having some conversation that I can’t really make out, but acting like this is a normal Thursday night for them.
Acting like this is familiar.
“Jesus,” Kiera says. “You guys look like a freaking power couple in there getting ready to throw a dinner party.”
Sofia chuckles, looking over at us as she stirs a pot of what I assume is pasta on the stove. “We’ve been throwing Game of Thrones watch parties for a few years now. I’ve got him well trained.”
I pull away from Kiera so I can see her face. We laugh.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say.
“Seriously,” Hayes says. “When did we start doing that, Sof?”
She stops her stirring and ponders this. “Season three? Four?”
Hayes points to her. “Red Wedding season. When was that?”
“Season three,” she confirms. “God, where did the years go? It seems like yesterday.”
“Five years?” Kiera asks. “How come you never told me about this? I would’ve loved to come to those.”
Hayes shrugs. “I didn’t think you were into it.”
“You had those parties here?” I ask, looking around at Sofia’s apartment. The large flat-screen over her fireplace. Picturing how she’d arrange the seating to accommodate a horde of Game of Thrones fans. Imagining the conversation about dragons and dwarfs. Unable to reconcile this image of Hayes.
“Yup,” Sofia says. “It’s kind of a big deal. Sometimes we have like twenty people. Camille always came, Kiera. Bennett didn’t come to all of them, but he made a few each season. We have other parties too, if you’re not into the fantasy stuff. I’ll add you to our Facebook group.”
Facebook group? Hayes and Sofia have a Facebook group to coordinate their parties?
“Hmmm,” Kiera says. “You should’ve invited me, Hayes. I’ve been having lunch with you at least once a month this whole time and you never said a word about watch parties with Sofia and Camille.”
Yeah, that’s weird too. How is it that I got through these ten years barely talking to any of them and Hayes had a secret relationship with all of them but me? And is it weird that Bennett never mentioned this? I mean, I’ve seen him like almost every day since we graduated from Essex.
“I’m starting to take this personally, Hayes.”
He laughs, busy with the fucking meatballs.
“Seriously, why didn’t you reach out to me?”
His laugh falls away and he’s silent for a few moments.
“Hayes? Did I like… offend you or something?”
“No.” He laughs again. But it doesn’t feel real. It feels a lot like a… a reaction. “No,” he reiterates. “I just figured you were busy with your father’s plans for you, that’s all.”
Well, that’s not weird. I mean, I get what he’s saying. I’ve kinda been on this whole you’re-gonna-be-a-senator ten-year plan for the last ten years.
But it is weird. Because it’s the way he says it that bothers me.
“Who wants to set the table?” Sofia asks.
“I will,” Kiera says. “But I’m warning you, I have no idea where the forks and spoons go.”
“No one cares,” Hayes says, winking at her.
“Hey, where’s Camille and Bennett?” I ask.
“They’re skipping dinner,” Sofia says. “Busy, I guess.”
Hayes frowns, staring at Sofia for a long moment, then goes back to what he’s doing without comment. But he’s clearly worried about that development.
I take a deep breath and let it out as I watch Sofia tell Kiera where the tableware is kept. Then I walk over to the bar area in the living room. “Anyone want a drink?”
“Wine,” Sofia says, pointing to a wine fridge under the counter I’m standing in front of. “Any of them are fine.”
“I keep a bottle of ’64 Glenlivet in the cabinet with the key in it, Con,” Hayes says. “Help yourself as well.”
I just shake my head for two reasons. One, the bottle I find in the cabinet with the key is a rare one worth as much as a new mid-size car. And two, he keeps one here. Like he’s got spares in keyed cabinets all over Manhattan.