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I walk out of my seat, not caring I’m in public, and crawl on his lap and curl my arms around his neck.

He dips down and clutches me to him, his body trembling.

My chest spasms in pain at the little boy who got his world torn apart, who suddenly realized his father wasn’t the person he thought he was.

The feeling of not being enough. Of not being loved.

Tears slide down my cheeks. I may not have met my father, but at least I had the love of my mom, who never let us feel anything less than.

“You are enough, Steven. You are so worthy of love, you incredible man,” I whisper against his lapels.

Placing my hand over his heart, I can feel the reassuring thumping underneath his dress shirt. “This heart, even without money, successes, or fine things, is special, is one of a kind. Your parents are blind if they don’t see that.”

I lift my head up, my cheeks grazing his chest, and I find his teary gaze on mine.

I whisper, “And I see you , Steven Kingsley. I’d love you even without your success, without your money, even if we were to live in the South Bronx in an apartment with gangs loitering outside and we have to eat stale hot dogs for the rest of our lives. ”

His lips twitch into a smile as I continue, “I’d love you even then. Because you are a good man and just you alone burn brighter than any wishing star in the sky.”

His lips part, and I feel a shudder roll through his tense frame. “Grace,” he rasps before he dips his head down and claims my lips in front of everyone.

I hear the furtive whispers, sense the pointed stares, but everything quickly fades away as the world becomes just the two of us, my mouth breathing life into his, his lips sending love to my veins, our body heat keeping each other safe and warm.

My heart clenches and flies, my soul soaring into the night skies and I feel a rightness burrowing deep inside me.

This is perfection. Even if I don’t find the identity of my father, even if what I learn will disappoint me, it doesn’t matter anymore, as long as Steven is by my side .

For the first time in my life, I feel whole. There’s no aching darkness in my chest. I don’t need to hide or pretend. I can just be myself, and I know that’ll be enough for this man in my arms.

And I can do the same for him.

A weariness snakes through me and when I look up, I see the same in his eyes. A cathartic release of emotions would do that to you, and God knows how long those wounds have festered inside him.

I only wish he’d heal one day, even if it means I have to kiss him and whisper I love you a thousand times every day, I’d do it, just to chase the darkness away from his eyes. Slowly, I disentangle from him, straighten my navy dress, and walk back to my side of the table.

A waiter appears from nowhere and pulls my chair out for me as I take a seat. Then seconds later, platters of food mysteriously appear on the table, everything served in a quiet, efficient manner by men in crisp tuxedos and perfectly slicked back hair.

My eyes widen, my mouth dropping open at the array of food in front of me. The earlier melancholia fades to the background as I’m hit with a barrage of fragrant aromas and artfully arranged dishes—food porn at its best.

There’s lobster with grilled herbs and drawn butter, rib-eye steak which smells rich and fragrant, a pesto pasta sprinkled with what looks to be slices of truffles on top, and the artisan breadbasket, the perfectly cut, fluffy rolls, golden brown baguettes, slices of thick focaccia, strips of salt-flaked pretzel sticks.

If I weren’t in love with this man already, this meal would do it.

“The breadbasket,” I gasp in awe.

Steven chuckles, the heaviness dissipating from his frame. “Of course, of all things you focus on, you’d focus on the least expensive item on the table.”

He bites his bottom lip. “I want to put that expression on your face every day. You’ll never want for anything anymore. You deserve to be pampered like the queen you are. ”

I smile as we dig into the food. Growing up, we never had opportunities for fine dining with our limited budget.

A hot dog at Central Park was perfectly acceptable.

I look at the man before me, who is carefully slicing the steak and lobster and putting them on a plate for me, so I could no doubt try everything on the table, and I feel my breath lodging in my throat.

How did I get so lucky?

He sneaks a glance at me, finding me staring at him, and the boyish grin appears on his face again. His eyes no longer look sunken, the dark circles have faded significantly, and he is sporting a five o’clock shadow, something I don’t usually see on him. But he looks radiant. Happy.

“I want to put that expression on your face every day too,” I whisper.

His hands freeze and his piercing hazel eyes meet mine. He swallows and rasps, “I feel like I can breathe when you are by my side.”

We stare at each other in silence, with the soft melodies of the harp playing in the background and quiet chattering from other patrons in the restaurant as accompaniment.

My lips part and I feel an intense tugging inside me, drawing me to him, like even the distance of this table between us is too far apart.

He has become my falcon, my protector, his presence above the waters letting me swim freely near him. Two people who shouldn’t have gotten together yet somehow did. Two magnets made whole.

The prickle behind my eyes becomes a burn and I let out a wobbly smile. “We’re a team.”

A vein pulses on his forehead, his intense gaze boring into mine, telling me everything he’s not saying.

A vow. A command. A wish all twisted together.

“We’re a team,” he murmurs, his voice thick as his nostrils flare.

Just then, a waiter comes by and pours water into our glasses, breaking the spell.

Steven hands me the plate he prepared and I take my first bite of the steak, which melts in my mouth in a swirling pool of savory flavors. I moan with pleasure. My mind flits back to his look of horror when he ate the first bite of his hot dog at Central Park and I giggle.

“What are you thinking about?” Another arch of his brow, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“The hot dog.”

He groans dramatically and I laugh. He shakes his head. “Now you understand why that hot dog was torture for me. This,” he points to the dishes on our table, “this is what food should be.”

I dig into the buttery lobster, which tastes so fresh it feels like it was just caught moments ago, and I nod my head. This food is unparalleled. The Michelin stars make sense.

After swallowing, I murmur, “Life is full of different flavors. You need to taste the bitter to enjoy the sweet, experience sadness to enjoy happiness.” I quirk a brow. “Taste a stale hot dog to enjoy a scrumptious surf and turf.”

He laughs softly. “One thing I love about you is your ability to see the bright side of everything. Even in the harshest situations.”

Taking my hand in his, the touch sending a jolt of awareness through me, he whispers, “You’re amazing, Grace, and I thank the stars for bringing you to my side.”

My face heats as I dip my head down, bubbles prickling my spine and I feel like I can fly and be the fish that joins the swan in the beautiful blue skies.

With him looking at me with so much love in his eyes, I feel everything is possible.

Dinner is filled with laughter and seriousness as we trade stories of our childhoods and I tell him I nearly burned down the kitchen one time when I tried to cook dinner for Mom’s birthday back when I was ten.

I shed a few tears when I tell him stories of Mom, how she was the most loving person I’d ever met, how her heart was always filled with kindness.

How I wish she could’ve met him, how elated she would be now that I finally opened my heart up to love .

I tell him about the men in our past, how Carl beat mom to a pulp, how sleazeballs would leer at us and try to take advantage of us when they thought they could get away with it.

I watch his eyes burn with anger, his jaw clenching, fists gripping the tablecloth like he wants to stand up and take on the world for me.

Then, his stiff posture softens when I tell him how I ended some of these behaviors with a hard kick to the balls.

I tell him how I ended up hiding my appearance, and dressed in baggy clothes to avoid more spotlight as I grew up.

“You’re beautiful, Grace, no matter what you wear.

You can’t hide a soul. Back then, when you were in clothes I thought were from your grandmother’s closet, I still couldn’t resist looking at you whenever I passed by.

It doesn’t matter to me if you want to wear baggy shirts or curve-hugging dresses, not that I would ever complain.

You’re beautiful to me because of what’s inside you and that brilliant mind of yours.

” Steven marvels as he lifts my hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss there.

My lungs seize and I dole out a wobbly smile, a current of warmth unique to him swirling within me like a warm breeze on a summer night. And in this moment, I definitely feel like I can fly and soar in the skies.

“Steven, I—”

“Steven Kingsley!” a feminine voice hisses behind me as I watch Steven straighten up, his jaw clenching.

“Mother.”