Mira pierced her fork into the last leaf of lettuce, the metal caressing tenderly against the plate. Thane lifted his glass, his hands wrapping over the stem, steamy patches of condensation beading on the rim. Eli, mac and cheese clenched between his lips, glared in incredulous shock.
"Your wedding date?" he burst out, cheesy noodles on his lip.
The words landed like rocks in a pond. Mira's breath snagged; her fork hovered an inch above the plate. Thane's throat tightened, and he set down his glass so violently that it rattled.
Eli blinked. "You know, like—when you promise the big one with rings and cake?" He sucked the noodle, unaware of the tension wrapping around him.
Mira swallowed the lump in her throat. “Honey,” she began, voice unsteady, “that’s something adults talk about—later
