The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a yellow tint over the laminated menus and half-eaten baskets of chips. Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson lounged in the corner booth, nursing a Coke and pretending to listen to whatever nonsense Johnny Kavanagh was on about. Something about training, or his new shampoo, or both.

Gibsie barely heard him.

Because less than twenty feet away…

Less than twenty feet away from me was her. My sunshine. With Damien Cleary.

Her laugh drifted across the diner — the one that crinkled her nose and made Gibsie’s chest ache. She was smiling, bright and easy, wearing the necklace he got her for her birthday. The one she said she’d never take off.

But there she was.

With Damien. Cleary. That absolute prat with a jawline sculpted by bitterness and zero personality.

She’s laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and look so beautiful?

Gibsie blinked hard, jaw tightening. Across from him, Patrick Feely noticed the shift in his face first.

“Mate,” Patrick said under his breath, “isn’t that your—?”

“She’s not mine,” Gibsie snapped, too fast.

Hughie leaned over Johnny to squint toward the window. “Damien? You’ve got to be joking. That guy once tried to microwave a protein bar.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed. “She said she wasn’t dating anyone.”

“She’s not,” Gibsie muttered. “She said it was just dinner. Her mum set it up. It’s not real.”

Patrick looked at him. “Still feels like we should interfere. For educational purposes.”

Johnny cracked his knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to pour a milkshake in someone’s lap.”

Gibsie didn’t speak. His stare hadn’t left her once. Not when she twirled her straw. Not when Damien leaned in and tried to whisper something in her ear. Not when she laughed again — a little less real this time.

His hands curled into fists beneath the table.

“Right,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Let’s make some memories.”

They moved like a unit. A messy, chaotic, deeply unhinged unit.

Patrick “accidentally” knocked into their table on the way to the restroom. Johnny asked the waitress loudly if the "two-for-one deal on dates with girls way outta your league" was still on. Hughie claimed the jukebox and played “Scotty Doesn’t Know” at full blast.

Gibsie didn’t say a word.

Until he passed their table.

He paused just long enough to meet her eyes — wide, startled, familiar.

“Enjoying your night?” he asked, all grin and venom.

Before she could answer, he winked and kept walking.

She turned in her seat, gaze locked on him, lips parted like maybe she had something to say.

Damien looked like he wanted to vanish.

Gibsie didn’t look back.

But God, he hoped she was still watching. Because he wasn’t done yet.