“And Dane?” Chris asks, spitting his name out like a bad word. “He could actually look you in the eye?”
I nod. “He asked me how I was doing and everything.”
“Good Lord. The two of them deserve each other.”
“That’s what I said!"
“Verbatim?”
I laugh. “Exact same words. I wanted to make sure they both got the message loud and clear. Then again, it was hard not to with Anton standing right next to me.”
The smile twists on Chris’s face, curdling into something not as warm. “He was with you?”
“Yeah. It was in the airport. We flew back together." I can’t exactly contain my amusement as I relive the little encounter in my head. “God, Salma was beside herself. She couldn’t stop looking at Anton.”
“She can’t stop looking at most guys.”
I frown. “Anton is a lot of things, but he sure as hell isn’t ‘most guys.’”
“True. Most guys aren't murderers."
I stop short and glare at my best friend. “Come on.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It was uncalled for.”
“Why? Because you’ve decided to forgive his sins and look the other way?” he asks. “Is he really that damn good-looking?”
“You’ve seen him,” I snap. “You tell me.”
Apparently, three minutes is as long as we can go without fighting these days. Chris is tense, his shoulders tight and lifted around his shoulders like a wall.
He wants me to see things his way, and I want him to see them mine. Every time we fail to break through to the other, the tension grows.
“Have you ordered yet?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“I had a coffee just before you came,” he says. “But I’ve lost my appetite.”
I throw my menu down. “That makes two of us.”
I lean back and place my hand over my stomach. I don’t have much of a bump yet, but it’s become a habit.
Of course, Chris notices right away. “How’s the baby?”
“Fine. I had a scare while I was in London, but everything is okay. Thanks to Anton.”
“Is that a fact?” Chris asks, sounding extremely unimpressed.
“I thought I was losing the baby, Chris. I was terrified.”
He looks sorry for a moment before the expression is replaced with something else.
“What?” I press. “What are you not saying?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” I retort. “You’re my best friend. Your opinion matters to me.”