“You’re not actually dating him, are you?” Your friend’s voice cuts through the crowd, playful and sharp, chin tilted toward where Jacob had been helping someone near the elephants.

You laugh — a little too loudly. “No. I mean— he’s nice. Just… not really my type.”

She snorts. “Yeah, you’d have to lower your standards by, like, a lot.”

You force a smile, trying to hide the sting in your own words.

“He smells like hay half the time,” you add quietly, twisting the stem of your glass between your fingers. “It’s not like I could bring him home or anything.”

Her laugh is loud, bright.

But then— a beat of silence behind you.

You turn slowly.

Jacob’s standing there, a bucket still in one hand, staring at you like the ground just vanished from under his feet.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

He blinks once. Nods. “Right,” he says, voice low. “Guess I needed the reminder.”

Then he walks off, jaw set, shoulders tight.

And you’re left standing there — champagne warm in your hand, heart sinking cold.