Page 22 of A Secret Escape

“My gran died when I was eighteen,” he says, a note of sadness in his voice. “We were really close when I was growing up, so it hit me pretty hard. Not quite the same as losing both parents, but… it did affect me.”

I nod, grateful for his honesty. Other guys I’ve gone out with barely wanted to talk at all; dragging conversation from them was like pulling teeth. But with Marcus, it’s almost like I can’t say anything wrong.

A comfortable silence falls between us for a moment as we both sip our wine.

“Well, now you know my life story,” I say.

“Hardly your life story. Tragedy doesn’t define you. It only makes you stronger. You wouldn’t be who you are today if you hadn’t lived the life you did.”

His words wrap around my heart with a warmth I’ve never felt before. He speaks so eloquently, his voice so calm and reassuring, it’s as though he knows how to make the worst things in life feel like minor inconveniences.

Suddenly I feel light-headed and dizzy.

Maybe it’s the wine, but a rush of emotion makes my heart palpitate, the sound of it beating in my chest like a drum.

I’ve never opened up like this to someone before and felt so understood.

So comforted. Somehow, every moment with Marcus just feels right, and the thought that he likes me as well, that he asked me out, brought me to this gorgeous restaurant…

the thought that there might just be the slightest chance, the slightest possibility of something real with him…

it’s all suddenly a little overwhelming.

***

Marcus

Our food arrives, filling the table with warm, earthy aromas.

We both reach for the mushroom brioche at the same time, smiling as our fingers brush. It’s rich and buttery, and as she brings it to her mouth, her lips part around the bite in a way that’s completely unintentional but utterly distracting.

Conversation flows easily between bites, just like the wine I refill our glasses with. I find myself telling Lila stories about my early days at Catalyst – stories I haven’t shared in years. The panic of my first big presentation, the night I fell asleep on my desk before a deadline.

“Can you believe we only had about thirty staff back then? And now it’s what – over a hundred?”

She smiles, her eyes soft with appreciation. “That’s the dream, isn’t it? Building something that lasts?”

She tells me about a new project they’ve kicked off this week, a bold rebrand for a struggling craft gin label trying to break into high-end cocktail bars. As she talks through her ideas, her whole face lights up with a passion that’s mesmerising to watch.

But every time Carter’s name slips from her lips, which happens with a frequency I can’t help but notice, there’s that familiar twist in my gut, like someone’s turning a knife.

I know he’s dating Harrison now, but after that night at Elevation last year…

“Carter thinks we should use a more industrial approach, but I’m pushing back on it,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The restaurant hums around us, but somehow we’ve created our own pocket of quiet intimacy here in the booth.

I look across the table at her and find my breath stalling in my throat as the candlelight catches her eye.

She looks stunningly beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache slightly.

And she’s opened up to me with a vulnerability I never would have expected, considering she’d always seemed so reserved.

“Can I ask you something?” I lean forward, my voice dropping lower. “That night at Elevation…about a year ago.”

She sets her fork down with a gentle clink, looking directly at me.

Something shifts in her expression, her eyes softening.

“Yea?”

I hesitate, swallowing hard. “You and Carter…” My usual confidence falters, the question sticking in my throat.

I watch her face carefully - confused at first, her brow furrowing. Then her expression transforms, eyebrows lifting as realisation dawns on her. Her lips part slightly before curving up into a small incredulous smile.

“Is that why…” She tilts her head, studying me with puppy dog eyes. “You thought Carter and I were…?”

I shrug, my shoulders tense. “You looked close. It almost looked like he was about to kiss you at one point. And you said you needed to get him home. I stayed just long enough to make sure you’d be safe.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment, then a light laugh bubbles up from her chest. “Marcus, Carter is like my brother. Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking furious with him the next day for getting so wasted, but no, we’ve never been together. Not even close.”

I nod, relief spreading through me as I watch her twirl her wine glass by the stem, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

“He doesn’t often lose control like that.

I didn’t know it at the time, but he was crushing on Harrison, and that was the night that Harrison and Becky got together, so he was a bit of a mess.

He didn’t tell me about that until later, after him and Harrison had got together. ”

I laugh, looking back now on it, realising how different it had looked back then to what the reality was.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I wanted to ask, but it never seemed appropriate.”

“So instead you just… kept your distance?” There’s something in her voice – hurt, or perhaps simple curiosity – that makes me reach across the table and take her hand, my fingers curling firmly around hers.

“Kept my distance,” I laugh. “Is that what you call buying your coffee every Friday and finding every excuse I could to drop by your desk?”

A pink flush creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks as her eyes drop to our intertwined hands .

I’ve wasted two years wanting her, telling myself I couldn’t have her for every damn reason in the book. Tonight, I’m done wasting any more time.

The waitress comes over and picks up our nearly empty plates. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” she asks.

Our eyes meet, a fire in her expression that matches my thoughts exactly.

There’s only one dessert I want, and I’m looking right at it.

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” she says, holding my gaze.

Thank fucking God.

“No, thank you. Just the bill, please.”

***

A few minutes later, we’re back in my car, waiting for the engine to warm. I rub my hands together, breathing visible puffs of steam that make Lila laugh. That sound – light and carefree – cuts straight through the chill and lands square in my chest.

I glance over. She’s looking at me like she knows exactly what she’s doing, her legs angled toward me in the seat, the hem of her dress pulled back just high enough to make it hard to focus. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

I want to kiss her, to devour her right here in the car – but I force myself to breathe.

“Where to now?” she asks, her voice playful and daring.

I wet my bottom lip, watching the way her eyes catch mine.

“How about a drink?” My voice shakes ever so slightly. God knows I’ve never struggled with this sort of thing. Except when it comes to her .

She nods and I start the engine, my S5 purring to life as I pull out of the car park.

“There’s a little jazz bar not far from me,” I say casually, not mentioning I’ve already booked a table.

“Sounds perfect,” she replies.

We drive in a charged silence, every glance from her sending a shiver down my spine. I try to focus on the road, but my mind is consumed by her lips, her tongue, her legs…

Ten minutes later, I pull into my driveway.

“This is me,” I say as I step out and walk around the car to open the passenger door for her, holding out my hand. She takes it without hesitation.

“It’s nice,” she says, eyeing the house with a smile.

“It does the job. Quiet street, close to work. Ideal for me really.”

She gives a tiny nod, looking up at me expectantly.

Her gaze locks with mine, and I swear my heart skips a fucking beat.

I want to forget the drink and ask her in. Hell, I want to carry her in over my shoulder and never let her leave.

And she was the one who suggested skipping dinner altogether!

“Shall we?” I say as a cold wind whips around us.

We walk a few minutes through my neighbourhood until we round a corner onto a quiet street. The place doesn’t look like much from the outside – a red glow bleeding out from behind blacked-out windows and a faded sign above the door that reads Midnight Rose.

“This is it,” I say, opening the door for her.

Warmth envelops us as a soft saxophone melody floats through the air, mingling with the low hum of quiet conversation.

The interior is dimly lit, intimate, the scent of vanilla and oak heavy in the air.

Deep burgundy sofas curve around low tables, each adorned with a flickering tealight and a single red rose in a slim vase.

The walls are hung with moody, eclectic art, partially hidden by thick velvet drapes.

I lead her to one of the open sofas near the back, her leg pressing against mine as she sits, sending a thrilling jolt coursing through me.

God, it’s really been too long since I’ve been with someone.

“Drink?” I ask and she nods, smiling like she knows exactly how undone she’s making me.

Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, I head to the bar, returning a minute later with two purple cocktails, each topped with a tropical umbrella and cherry garnish. I slip my arm around her as she adjusts her body to nestle in closer to me.

“What is it?” she laughs, her smile playful and curious.

“Try it.” I take a sip of mine before setting the glass down on the table. As I lean back, my hand comes to rest on her bare knee, and I try not to react at the desire surging through me from the feel of her skin under my fingers.

She takes a sip, her eyebrows rising.

“Wow, that is… sweet,” she says with a laugh.

“I thought you might like it. It’s their signature.”