The place was loud — music humming, dishes clattering, the usual buzz of a small-town Friday night. Joey Lynch stood near the jukebox with Johnny and Gibsie, half-listening to whatever Hughie was on about, until he saw her.

His best friend.

His girl, even though she technically wasn’t.

Sitting across the booth from Damien Cleary, hair falling around her face, smiling at something Damien had said. She looked…happy.

Joey’s stomach twisted.

“There,” he muttered, nodding toward the booth.

Johnny turned. “Ah, fuck off, is she actually on a date with Damien bloody Cleary?”

“She said it wasn’t serious,” Joey muttered, already moving. “Let’s go say hi.”

Gibsie grinned. “Time to crash a party.”

They crossed the diner as a unit — Joey, Johnny, and Gibsie taking one side of the booth like it was always meant for them, squeezing in beside her, practically shoulder to shoulder. On the opposite bench, Patrick and Hughie flanked Damien like backup dancers in a bad routine.

She looked up in wide-eyed surprise, drink halfway to her lips.

“Joey?” she said, blinking.

“Hey, sunshine,” he replied coolly, stealing one of her fries. “Didn’t know you were entertaining.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “What the hell is this?”

Johnny smirked. “Rugby team outing.”

“Unplanned,” Gibsie added, not remotely apologetic.

Damien leaned forward, trying to make eye contact with her, trying to block Joey with his words. “She chose me, mate.”

Joey turned to him, finally giving him a glance — steady, unreadable.

Then he looked at her.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Joey leaned back, arm stretching behind her along the top of the booth like it was muscle memory, like that’s where it belonged.

He didn’t look away when he said, voice low, pointed —

“Did she?”