Isla’s POV
My phone sits in my hand. The last message on the screen makes a small smile tug at my mouth.
I glance over at Rico.
He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. His expression is thoughtful, but there’s a small amused curve to his mouth like he knows something I don’t.
“You’ve been staring at that message for a while,” he says.
I lock the phone quickly. “I have not.”
Rico chuckles. “You have.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Mhm.”
He doesn’t push further, but the silence that follows feels heavier. The bar had been loud—music pounding through the walls, voices layered over each other, glasses clinking. Rico had ordered drinks without asking what I wanted, which somehow irritated me and made me laugh at the same time. He had talked about bus
