Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Liam
Callie’s apartment had always been a haven. A place where you could show up unannounced, crash for hours, and leave feeling like nothing in the world had changed except your blood alcohol level and your growing collection of inside jokes.
Tonight was no different.
Tess and Avery were both working tonight, so they had promised to swing by sometime later if they were feeling up to it. Harper was out of town at a conference, sending occasional texts trying to stay included. Clearly this hangout was way more exciting than a conference full of uppity counselors.
The couch was an explosion of blankets and bodies.
Renzo had claimed the floor, sprawled out like a crime scene, one arm draped dramatically over his face as he scrolled through his phone.
Ezra was stretched across half the couch, one leg flung over the armrest, sipping his rum and coke while scrolling through his phone.
Max perched on the windowsill, puffing on his vape and adding his signature dry commentary to every topic that came up.
Callie sat cross-legged in their armchair, a bowl of popcorn balanced on their lap, eyes scanning the room like a cat about to knock something off a shelf, studying all of us with that knowing, amused expression that usually meant they were about to start shit.
It was a normal night.
So why the fuck was I sitting here waiting for something to feel different?
It wasn’t like Sam was supposed to be here.
I knew he wasn’t coming.
And yet, I still caught myself glancing at the door.
Stupid.
And I was trying not to think about why that was sitting so weird inside me.
It wasn’t weird. It shouldn’t have been weird.
Because this? Hanging out. Talking shit. Catching up on work drama and Havenwood gossip. This was normal.
I tipped back my beer, focusing on the conversation instead.
Renzo had been nursing the same beer for an hour, legs stretched out in front of him and hands gesturing wildly as he laid out his latest and, according to him, airtight conspiracy theory.
“I’m just saying,” he declared, glancing around the room like he was about to drop classified intel, “there is no fucking way that guy isn’t in witness protection.”
Callie made a skeptical face. “You’re talking about the new barista at Green Bean?”
Renzo snapped his fingers. “Yes.”
Ezra scoffed. “The one with the mustache?”
Renzo pointed dramatically. “Exactly.”
Max laughed. “Renzo, babe, what the hell are you even talking about?”
Renzo leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen. He shows up out of nowhere. No social media presence or backstory. No one knows where he came from. Suddenly he’s slinging oat milk lattes like he was bred for it.”
I took a sip of my beer. “That’s kind of how hiring works, dude. A business needs a barista. A barista applies.”
Renzo shook his head violently. “No. No, see, that’s what they want you to think. But I did some digging.”
Callie groaned. “Oh my god.”
Renzo ignored them, scrolling furiously through his phone before shoving it in Max’s face. “Look at this!”
Max squinted at the screen. “What am I looking at?”
Renzo jabbed a finger at the image. “That is definitely him. Ten years ago. In the ensemble of West Side Story.”
Ezra frowned. “Wait. West Side Story? Like, Broadway West Side Story?”
Renzo smiled triumphantly. “Broadway Broadway. His name back then was Marcus Raines. And now?” He spread his hands. “Now he’s Mark Rivers. Coincidence?”
Callie sighed. “Or, and hear me out, maybe he just… changed his name?”
Ezra interjected, “Or had a stage name.”
Max hummed. “Or maybe he just got tired of the whole Broadway grind.”
Renzo shot them both a deadly look. “Or, maybe he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see and had to go into hiding.”
I let out a slow breath. “Renzo.”
“What?” He spread his arms. “Think about it! One day, he’s playing a Jet. The next? Gone. No follow-ups, regional credits, or even community theater. Nothing. Just a decade-long gap, and now he’s here? In Havenwood? Making exactly the kind of caramel macchiato that could make you forget your past?”
Ezra groaned. “Jesus Christ.”
I squinted at Renzo. “You know, for a straight guy, you’ve spent an impressive amount of time thinking about his career trajectory.”
Renzo scoffed. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” I continued easily, “you followed him on Instagram, checked his tagged photos, Googled his name twice, and somehow know his understudy credits from 2009. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a crush.”
Renzo rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. “I’m straight.”
“Sure,” I said, lifting my beer. “And I’m not judging. I’m just observing a level of interest.”
He waved me off. “I’m curious. There’s a difference.”
Renzo wagged a finger. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Renzo, you brilliant son of a bitch, why don’t you work for the FBI?’”
“No one was thinking that,” Callie corrected.
“But the answer,” Renzo continued, undeterred, “is that I don’t need the FBI. My brain is too powerful. I’d be a liability.”
I smirked. “Or maybe you just need to stop stalking baristas.”
Renzo crossed his arms. “Fine. Laugh it up. But when Marcus-slash-Mark vanishes again, I won’t be surprised.”
Max chuckled, lifting his glass. “And when that happens, we’ll buy you a celebratory coffee. From not a Broadway refugee.”
Renzo narrowed his eyes, asserting, “That’s exactly what they said about Jimmy Hoffa.”
Ezra groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch dramatically. “I swear to god, I am done with dating apps.”
Callie snorted. “Oh please. You say that every time.”
Ezra lifted a hand, eyes still closed. “No, this time? I mean it. This one was next-level bad.”
I took a sip of my beer, already bracing for the inevitable chaos. “What happened?”
Ezra sat up, rubbing their temples like the memory physically pained them. “Okay. So, I match with this guy on Rogue. He is super cute, has a great smile, and a solid bio. Seems normal, right?”
Renzo waggled his brows. “Big dick?”
Ezra shot him a look. “That is not the point of the story.”
I pointed between them. “There it is again. You sure you’re straight?”
Renzo turned slowly, fixing me with a glare.
I just winked and blew him a kiss.
Max waved them on. “Continue.”
Ezra continued. “So, we chat, we flirt, he seems charming. He invites me over to his place for a drink, and I think, ‘Sure, why not?’”
Callie chuckled. “Because that always goes well.”
Ezra ignored them. “I got there, and honestly? The place was nice. Clean. No serial killer vibes.”
Renzo chuckled. “Always a good start.”
“Right?” Ezra threw up his hands. “So, we’re having a drink, chatting on the couch, and he offers to give me a little tour of the place.”
Max raised a brow. “Oh, a tour, huh?”
Ezra sighed. “Yes, Max. A tour. Like a normal person.”
Renzo cocked a brow. “Did the tour end in the bedroom?”
Ezra groaned. “Yes, but hold on. Because that’s where it gets weird.”
We all leaned in.
Ezra looked around dramatically before dropping his voice to a stage whisper. “On his nightstand? A framed photo of his ex.”
Silence.
Then Callie snorted. “No.”
Renzo wheezed. “Like, right there? Just spying you?”
Ezra nodded grimly. “Full-on, 8x10, posed portrait. Smiling. Like a fucking memorial.”
Max gasped. “Did you ask about it?”
Ezra rolled his eyes. “Of course I did! I was like, ‘Dude. You do realize there’s a literal shrine to your ex on your bedside table, right?’”
Renzo leaned forward. “And?”
Ezra threw up his hands. “He said, and I swear to god, ‘Oh, that? It’s just decor.’”
The room erupted.
I choked on my drink. Callie nearly fell off the couch. Max clapped his hands together like he had just witnessed a Broadway-worthy performance.
Renzo, through his laughter, gasped, “You’re telling me, this man thought his ex’s face was a decorative choice?”
Ezra nodded, deadpan. “Like it was a fucking succulent.”
Max wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god, I love this.”
Callie was still giggling. “So what did you do?”
Ezra sighed. “I told him, ‘Sweetheart, if you’ve still got your ex framed like a hotel stock photo, I don’t think you’re ready for this.’ And then I left.”
Renzo groaned. “You should have fucked him first.”
Ezra rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that would have fixed it.”
Max smiled. “Well, at least you know what to put on your nightstand for your next date.”
Ezra flipped him off, but his lips twitched. “You’re all the worst.”
Callie grinned. “We know. And we love you.”
It was the usual bullshit. And I loved it. Until Ezra casually dropped the question that changed the whole night.
“So,” Ezra said, swirling the ice in his drink, “how’s the Sam situation going?”
I blinked. “The what?”
“The Sam situation,” Max repeated, smirking. “The slow-burn, unresolved sexual tension-infused, will-they-won’t-they saga that’s got all of Havenwood on the edge of our seats.”
Renzo chuckled. “Honestly, it’s exhausting. Just fuck already.”
I scowled, shifting in my seat. “There is no situation.”
Callie raised a brow. “So you’re telling us you’re not flirting with him every time he walks into your bar?”
“We’re friends,” I shot back.
Ezra snorted. “You don’t look at him like you just want to be friends.”
I rolled my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “I flirt. It’s my job.” Then, a long pause. “He’s not into me like that.”
More silence.
Then laughter.
All of them.
Like I’d just told the funniest fucking joke of the year.
I frowned. “What?”
Callie shook their head, still laughing. “Oh, honey.”
Max snorted, “I flirt. It’s my job. Please, you’ve made it a fucking lifestyle.”
Renzo sat up, pointing his beer at me. “He is so into you.”
Ezra nodded. “And if you can’t see that, you need your eyes checked.”
I scoffed. “You guys are making shit up.”
Callie let out a low hum. “Am I?” They popped another piece of popcorn into their mouth. “Or do I just see things?”