---
Evan doesn't deny it.
Which is somehow way worse than if he had.
He just stands there, mouth half-open, looking like a man who wishes the floor would open up and swallow him before his very charming and unfiltered sister can do more damage.
Charlotte, of course, is having the time of her life.
"You know," she says, flopping onto the couch like a human glitter bomb, "I was kidding when I brought it up. But now that you're both just staring at each other like background characters in a slow-burn drama, I feel like I'm doing a public service."
"Charlotte," Evan says through gritted teeth.
"Don't 'Charlotte' me. You're the one who talks about her like she's a playlist that makes you feel something."
I blink. "...Okay, that's kind of poetic. But also, what?"
Evan finally looks at me. Really looks.
And there it is again—that flicker of nervous affection I saw during laundry day, and again during biscotti diplomacy, and again on the couch when he told me my dress was "very me."
He rubs the back of his neck. "Okay. I was gonna say something. Eventually. But maybe without a live studio audience."
Charlotte raises her hands. "Fine, I'm off to the kitchen. But just know—if you two fall in love and don't invite me to the wedding, I will cause a scene."
She disappears with the rustle of chip bags, and silence falls between us like a soft blanket laced with nerves.
I sit down on the edge of the couch. Evan sits too, a safe three inches away.
Finally, he speaks.
"I like you, Leila."
He doesn't say it like a line. He says it like a confession he's been building toward for days.
"I wasn't expecting to. Honestly, I didn't even think I wanted to like anyone right now. But then you spilled coffee on me, and you were… weird. And real. And not afraid to say awkward things, or be messy, or just be you. And I really—really—like that."
My heart is thumping like it's on a caffeine bender.
I breathe in slowly.
Then say, "I like you too. But I also like being single. And independent. And kind of a disaster."
Evan nods. "I like all those things about you."
"So what do we do?" I ask.
He looks thoughtful. "We could… not define it yet?"
"You mean, like, just vibe?"
"Exactly."
I grin. "I am a top-tier viber, thank you very much."
He laughs. That quiet, caught-off-guard laugh I love.
Then, gently, he reaches over.
And hooks his pinky around mine again.
No kiss. No fireworks. No dramatic declarations.
Just warmth.
Soft.
Safe.
Promising.
---