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“Good to hear, man. We’ll catch you on the way out,” Griffin says to Jimmy. Then he places a hand lightly on the small of my back while gesturing toward the restaurant with the other. “Ready?”

I’m not ready at all, but I can’t exactly tell Griffin that. Logically, I knew we were dressed up. I knew we had to be headed somewhere semi-fancy, but I had not mentally prepared myself forthisrestaurant. I haven’t been inside this restaurant in years, but the second I step through the door, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. No,notnostalgia. That emotion implies a positive wistfulness. And nothing about my memories of this place is positive anymore. My lungs won’t fully inflate for deep breaths, and a cold sweat makes me fight the urge to shiver.Please, don’t let me see anyone I know here tonight.

One of the hostesses smiles at me and says, “Welcome to Capital Grille.” I attempt to return her smile. She turns to greet Griffin by name. “We have the table you requested ready for you. By the way, my cousingot that autographed hat from the St. Louis Bluebirds player. Thanks so much for pulling strings to make that happen!”

He says something about it not being a big deal, and we begin following the hostess into the restaurant. Griffin pulls my elbow to a gentle stop as we walk past the bar. He reaches over the bar to give a complicated hand slap to the bartender. “Jeff, my man! How’s it goin’?”

“I heard you were coming in tonight,” Jeff says, grinning widely. “Should I start up your usual?”

“You can wait till we sit down and look at the menu. But I won’t be surprising you,” Griffin replies. “This is Danae,” he tells the bartender as he places his hand on my back again. The repeated touch feels so natural, somehow both gentlemanly and possessive. It sends a thrill of warmth through my body, counteracting the cold sweat.

Jeff reaches across the bar to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Danae. You’re a brave soul, going out with this guy.”

Laughing, I return Jeff’s greeting.

“She is, indeed. Hey, is Krystal here tonight?” Griffin asks.

“Nope, she’s staying the night with my parents,” Jeff responds.

Griffin turns to me. “He has the cutest little girl who hangs out in the back sometimes. She’s what—six years old now?”

“Six going on sixteen,” Jeff says with an eye roll as he shakes a drink. I can’t help but laugh again. Jeff slides the drink to a customer sitting at the bar a few seats away from us then tells Griffin, “I’ll tell her you said ‘hi,’ though.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you on the way out,” Griffin says before turning back to the hostess. She’s been patiently waiting, as though this interaction was an expected delay. We follow her to an intimate table in the back corner, dimly lit by candles. The restaurant is full tonight, but no one gives Griffin more than a second glance. Well, other than the wait staff he greets by name as we walk past.

Interesting.

Griffin pulls my chair out for me at the table, and I accept the menu from the hostess. “Marco will be right with you. Enjoy your evening,” she says.

Seconds after Griffin sits across from me, he stands up again when our waiter arrives. They give each other a bro back-slap hug as Griffinexclaims, “Marco, congrats, man! How was the honeymoon?” He stays standing for a moment as Marco briefly tells him about the beach in Mexico.

Griffin introduces me before sitting back down. Marco tells us the specials for the evening and then leaves to give us a moment to look at the drink menu.

“So, what’s your usual?” I ask Griffin as I peruse the wine list.

“Club soda with lime and a splash of cranberry juice,” he replies. I raise my eyebrows. “Not what you expected?” he asks, grinning.

“There’s been a lot about you that I haven’t expected,” I respond without thinking. His lips twitch at the corners.

“I don’t like drinking alcohol when I’m training or playing, which is pretty much all year. My body feels more sluggish during workouts, even after one drink. But Jeff makes the best cranberry lime soda ever concocted,” Griffin declares.

“High praise,” I say, relaxing slightly. “I might have to experience this for myself.”

When Marco returns, I tell him to double Griffin’s usual drink order. While he’s away getting our drinks, I look over the menu.

“Have you been here before?” Griffin asks.

I hesitate—which I know Griffin notices. I see the spark of curiosity light up his eyes when I don’t answer right away. “Yes, I have. It’s been a long time, though.”

Griffin somehow reads my reluctance and asks a new, lighthearted question. “If you could only eat one type of food for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

“Breakfast,” I answer without hesitation. He raises his eyebrows, and I giggle. “Not what you were expecting?”

“Absolutely not. I had you pinned as an Italian pasta girl,” Griffin says. “Why breakfast?”

“It’s like the ultimate comfort food. And so much variety with sweet and savory options. I think breakfast food might be my primary love language,” I say, smiling.

Griffin’s eyes dance. “Duly noted. Alas, Capital Grille’s menu sorely lacks breakfast items. Maybe we should give some constructive feedback.”