Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 289

Chapter 289

I haven’t laughed like this in… I don’t even know how long.

Boomer and Mila are still going at it, tossing jabs back and forth like two people who’ve been roasting each other for years, not hours. Every time I think they’re done, one of them comes up with something even dumber than before, and I’m gone again, laughing so hard my

ribs ache.

Asher’s hand is still warm on my knee under the table. It hasn’t moved once.

It grounds me. Anchors me, even as I lean sideways to catch my breath, giggling into his shoulder like I’ve completely lost control.

Because, honestly, I kind of have.

Mila steals one of Boomer’s avocado slices without looking at him. He watches her do it and just… lets her. That alone makes me raise an

eyebrow.

“Did you just-?” he starts.

“I’m the guest,” she interrupts, popping it in her mouth.

“Actually, Penny invited you,” Boomer says. “So technically you’re her guest, which makes you a—’

“”

“Don’t say it,” Mila warns, holding up her chopsticks like a weapon.

“A plus one,” he finishes with a grin.

“Choke on your miso soup.”

Asher chuckles low beside me, and when I glance up at him, there’s this… look in his eyes. Soft. Easy. Like he’s watching me rather than

the conversation. Like this-me laughing, surrounded by people I love, not a trace of fear or sadness in sight-is the only thing he’s ever

wanted.

He looks happy. Light in a way he rarely lets himself be.

I squeeze his hand under the table, and he squeezes back.

We fall into a more relaxed rhythm after that. Between bites of seaweed salad and eel nigiri, Mila asks Boomer about Navy life, and he

actually answers her questions. Like, sincerely. Asher and I exchange a glance because the way she’s got him talking about training drills

and discipline protocols without making him sound like a walking PowerPoint is… impressive.

“You ever been deployed?” Mila asks.

Boomer nods. “Few times. Nothing like Asher’s done, though.”

Mila’s eyes shift to me for half a second, but she doesn’t say what I know she’s thinking. About what happened. About how everything that came before this dinner still lingers in the edges of the room, even if we’re pretending it doesn’t.

I smile at her in silent thanks. She gives me the tiniest wink.

By the time dessert rolls around, Mila has half-convinced Boomer to come see her next ballet performance (“You are a man of culture, right?”), and Asher has leaned fully into teasing me about my “tiny ballerina biceps” while also sneaking bites from my mochi plate.

I should be annoyed, but instead I press my foot gently against his under the table. His eyes flick to mine, and something low and hot

curls in my belly when he smirks.

I don’t care that we’re in public. I don’t care that Mila’s watching us with a knowing look.

I feel full-of food, of laughter, of warmth. Like the past week cracked something open inside me and now Asher’s the only one who can

reach into it.

We’re heading out, all of us slightly buzzed on sugar and soy sauce and whatever chemical combination exists in restaurants that makes

you way too giddy for no reason. Mila loops her arm through mine as we step out into the cool evening air.

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