You’ve had just enough whiskey to let your guard slip, just enough to start smiling too wide and leaning in too close. Karen’s beside you, boots kicked up on the rail, glass in hand, laughing like the night doesn’t touch her.

— “You’re lookin’ at me like you’ve got a secret” She says, voice low and edged with amusement. She doesn’t flinch when your shoulder brushes hers—if anything, she leans into it.

Maybe it’s the way the lantern light catches her eyes, or maybe it’s always been this easy between you two.

— “Just thinkin’ you’ve got the prettiest smile in the place” You murmur, more honest than you meant to be.

Karen arches a brow, lips parting like she’s surprised—just for a second. Then she huffs a laugh, shakes her head slow.

— “You’re drunk” She says, but there’s no heat in it.

— “No more than you” You grin.

And when her gaze lingers a moment longer, sharp but unreadable, you start to wonder if maybe this game you’ve been playing for months—this dance of glances and jokes and “just friends”—is finally tipping toward something real.