Felix leaves me at the table with his circle of friends after whispering something about grabbing the bill and packing up his guitar. I watch him weave his way through chairs and laughter, easy in his own skin, still glowing from the stage. As he disappears into the indoor café, Yaz leans toward me and nudges my elbow.
"He likes you. Like, actually likes you," she says, sipping the last of her soda.
"Maybe it's just temporary—"
"Girl," Yaz interrupts, raising an eyebrow. "Don't gaslight yourself. The way he looks at you? That boy's already down bad."
I blink. Then laugh, not because it isn't true, but because Yaz is too blunt and too warm for me to brush off. I don't know what to say, so I just tuck my hair behind my ear and give a small shrug. "Okay, but maybe not down bad, Yaz."
