Page 109 of The Breakup Artists

She tilts her head. “The party’s outside. Lack of air isn’t a problem.” Tiny gives me a knowing look. “You’re brooding.”

I lighten my expression, hoping to move past this with humor. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘philosophizing.’”

She smirks. “As in intellectual brooding? Nice try. It was average brooding—furrowed-brow-boy-with-gorgeous-hair-stares-at-placid-water-with-a-sigh.”

I smile. “Don’t knock my brand.”

But her focused gaze suggests she’s not going to let it go. “You know,” Tiny starts, “maybe we should talk this Ella thing through? There are a lot of potential fallouts with—” Only before she can continue, Bentley joins us, wearing a khaki linen blazer and an equally stupid smile.

But I’ve heard enough to know Tiny’s not okay with telling Ella the truth. And I get it. It’d mean the destruction of our business, gossip running wild. I break eye contact, my stomach knotting with worry.

“This party is straight-up amazing,” Bentley says. “Have you tried these?” He holds up a mini filo dough cup filled with goat cheese and caramelized onions.

“They’re Tiny’s mom’s favorite,” I say, and while I mean it to simply be an answer, it comes out as dismissive and territorial, my bad mood making it hard to cover the way I feel about him.

“She serves them every holiday,” Tiny adds in a chipper tone. “August and I accidentally used all her goat cheese one Christmas to concoct a magic potion, and I think we might have ruined the holiday for her. She’s bought eight extra logs every year since in fear of a repeat.”

Bentley puts his arm around Tiny’s waist and pulls her close. “Is it too soon to invite myself to Christmas?”

“Yes,” I say reflexively.

Tiny jumps in again, giving me a look that suggests we need to talk, but I look away. She smiles at Bentley. “Nope. You’re officially on the list.”

He leans down and gives her a kiss. If there were a path forward that didn’t involve knocking them off the dock, I’d take it, not that I’d mind sending Bentley into the water.

Bentley looks up with an “if you want to be a jerk, I can just keep kissing her like this all night” expression. He leaves his hand around her waist and I clench my jaw. He doesn’t deserve to be in the same universe as her, much less date her.

“I’m gonna—” I start, looking for an escape route that’ll allow me to remain civil, but Tiny cuts me off.

“August, did you know Bentley is actually a really good cook?” she says, and I wish I could tell her not to do this, to just let us dislike each other for what is bound to be a short relationship.

“Yeah, actually, I did,” I say, and they both look at me.

She tilts her head.

“He talks about it in the locker room,” I say as explanation.

She laughs. “You brag aboutyour cookingin the locker room?”

Don’t say it, August. Leave it alone.

Bentley looks unsure. “Maybe a little?”

Just walk away. Walk. A-way.“Apparently it works every time. Right, Bentley?”

Damn.

Bentley’s hesitation morphs into a warning glare directed at me.

Tiny stares at him, embarrassment seeping pink into her cheeks. “Oh my god, that’s your thing? You usedyour signature moveon me?” But her embarrassment has turned to something worse—she looks genuinely hurt. “And here I am bragging about it like an idiot?”

For a moment I feel terrible. In no way did I want to hurt Tiny, but isn’t it better for her to know the truth now, before she gets attached? I lift my empty cup as an explanation for my exit, even though neither of them is paying attention, and walk off.

“You know what he’s doing, right?” Bentley says behind me. “You know he’s just trying to make us fight.”

“I’ll admit that August is a little overprotective. But he’s basically my brother, and it doesn’t get you out of answering the question. Honesty pact,” she says, and I wonder how she could ever believe he’d be honest with her.

“Okay,” Bentley says. “So sometimes I cook meals for girls.”