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I sat back as Clementine sipped her wine and chatted about her day. I’d only ever dined out from this place, waiting till I could be there with her to step foot inside, and I was glad for that now.

The restaurant had a homey feel to it, despite its Michelin star and waitlist. Not that Clementine would know, seeing how as an Aziz she was likely used to being afforded things like tables at fine restaurants.

But she wasn’t spoiled. She didn’t act like the other rich women I’d known.

I hummed in response to something she said, content to simply look at her. The lighting was just right. Not too harsh against her unique coloring. She was so damn pretty.

Bright and colorful. Full of warmth and fire. Like a sunset over the desert.

“Wait. He did what?”

“Pop hired an entire petting zoo to come to our house for Christmas Eve to reenact the nativity. Complete with a baby lamb dressed as Jesus. It was all fine and good until one of the three wise men, aka a gnarly old goat, started eating our actual presents,” she said and giggled.

“Are you serious?” I let out my own chuckle.

I’d never heard of such a thing, but I was fairly certain my Catholic mother would be horrified.

“Dead serious. He got them to come every year for the next five years after that one. But Pop is always being crazy like that when it comes to Mom. He’d do anything for her. Even if it means embarrassing the hell out of his daughters, but we all know he can’t help it.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, smiling along with her as she regaled me with tales of her family’s holiday preparations from years past over dinner.

“Nothing. I mean, Pop is just crazy about her. He loves our mom like they’re teenagers or something.”

“Like they’re teenagers?” I frowned.

“Yeah. He just like really loves her,” she said, and smiled sadly, looking down at her plate.

“Your fruit de mar,” the server interrupted, placing a giant tower of seafood between us.

“Wow. This looks amazing,” Clementine said, and the server bowed her thanks.

So far, we’d shared every course, and I had to admit, it was better that way.

Though, I was stunned when she reached over with her fork to snag a bit of steak before I could slice it for her.

The server had just placed the dish down, and in the split second it took for me to reach for the knife, Clementine was already cutting into it, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

It was so unexpected that I couldn’t help but laugh. The sound escaped before I could stop it.

Yes, I’d planned to cut the steak and serve her a perfect bite, a practiced gesture that felt right in the moment. But Clementine wasn’t the type to stand on ceremony.

She wasn’t waiting for me to fuss over details—she was in the moment, enjoying herself without hesitation.

Holy fuck.

She was so, so her . Wasn’t that something?

My heart pounded, my pulse raced. My body seemed to know before my brain did that something special was going on.

She closed her lips around her fork and hummed in appreciation of the food.

I went cross-eyed at the sound. I could picture her lips wrapped around my cock, that same look of bliss crossing her features, and goddamn, my dick was so hard it was impossible to sit still.

This woman is going to be the death of me.

She knew what she was doing too, the minx. I was not buying her innocent act, but I was amused by it.

Even more so when she lined up the dishes in the middle of the table, casually asked for two clean plates, and then made her suggestion, “Let’s dig in.”

No formalities.

No pretending she wasn’t hungry like most women I’d taken out to dinner had.

Clementine was unapologetically herself, and fuck, that was just so refreshing.

It hit me then. I really enjoyed being with her.

With Clementine, I wasn’t the tragic heir to the Callahan misfortune. I didn’t have to prove my father wrong. Or think about all the people depending on me. For these few hours, I was just a man spending time with a woman.

We were just two people, hungry, eager to share stories and food. This, whatever this was, was something different. Something special.

Both refreshing and a little contagious.

I picked up my fork and joined her, smiling as I took bite after bite. Every morsel that passed my lips felt just a little bit more satisfying, not because of the food itself, but because she was there to share it with me.

It was like the act of eating was heightened simply by her presence.

Food was something we all needed to survive. I liked food. I ate when I was hungry, enjoyed it for the sake of nourishment.

But with Clementine, it was different. I savored every bite.

I lingered on the flavors, the textures, not because I was particularly obsessed with them, but because she made everything feel so much brighter.

Her laughter, her ease, her enthusiasm for even the smallest things—it made the whole world seem a little warmer, a little more colorful.

It was like all the things that would otherwise pass me by unnoticed suddenly became worth relishing, and all simply because she was there.

This thing with Clementine was supposed to be a one and done. But something changed the minute I touched her, and I was shocked at how powerful the rightness of that sentiment felt the second I had it.

“Excuse me. I, um, need to use the ladies’ room,” she murmured after we had our last bite of dessert.

I stood up, offering her my hand. The second she took it, I felt it zap through me. A lightning bolt of awareness, sharp and a little bit painful as it hit me right in my core.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you, Darlin’.”