Page 116 of For the Plot

I glance over. “Our first date.”

Her smile flickers, soft and cautious. My hand rests on the gear shift. Close to her knee but not touching.

I drive slowly, wanting to savor every single second with her. I’m done rushing things with her. We don’t speak for a few minutes. But it’s not silence. It’s loaded. Like every molecule between us is vibrating with memory and want.

When we hit a red light, I reach out. Just to fix a strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb grazes her cheek. She exhales slowly.

“Still driving yourself crazy trying to be a gentleman?” she whispers.

“You have no idea.”

She laughs softly.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask.

She nods.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

We drive the few remaining blocks to the restaurant and I hand my keys to the valet before guiding her inside. The rooftop terrace is everything I planned.

Twinkle lights. Candlelight. Music low and warm. Her favorite wine already waiting. She walks in ahead of me, then stops short.

“Oh my God.”

I step behind her, hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

“Too much?”

She shakes her head slowly. “No. It’s perfect.”

I guide her to the table and pull out her chair. I pour the wine, and she takes a sip, still scanning the garden.

“This feels… surreal.”

“Good surreal?”

She meets my eyes. “Dangerous surreal.”

I nod once. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dinner is slow. Delicious. She laughs easily, but I can see the war still playing out behind her eyes. It’s in the way her fingers toy with her napkin. The way her eyes dart to my mouth and then away. The way she flinches every time I get too close and then leans in anyway.

She’s still protecting herself. And I don’t blame her. But I’m here to earn every layer of armor she’s wearing. Not to dismantle it. Todeserveits removal.

By the time dessert arrives, she’s visibly more relaxed. Her laugh comes easier. Her eyes don’t flick away when I reach for her hand. And when I trace a circle on her palm with my thumb, she doesn’t stop me. She just watches. And lets me look at her like she’s the answer to every question I’ve ever had.

Because she is. She always fucking has been.

After dessert, we make our way down to the bar for a nightcap… Skye’s idea. She’d looked at me with that sly little tilt of her head and said,“Let’s not end the night yet.”

Like I could’ve said no to that. The rooftop was quiet. Intimate. But down here? It’s a different kind of heat. Low lights.Dark wood. Jazz playing through hidden speakers. The kind of place people come to pretend they’re not lonely until last call.

She picks a booth in the corner. I order us both a whiskey, neat for me, on the rocks for her. When I return with the drinks, she’s already kicked off one heel and curled her leg beneath her, lounging.

“Second thoughts?” I ask, sliding in across from her.

She lifts her glass. “None that involve you.”