It takes me a moment to recall what we were talking about and to force my whirling mind to focus.
“What’s not to like?” I reply with a smile.
Pink chuckles softly, the sound sending warmth spiraling through me. “Do you have any siblings?”
The question catches me off guard. My lungs tighten, the familiar ache creeping in as memories I’d rather not revisit threaten to surface. I look away quickly, hoping Pink won’t catch the shadow of pain crossing my face.
“A brother,” I manage, keeping my tone even. “He’s twelve years younger than me.”
When I glance back, Pink’s face is etched with sympathy. It hits me like a blow, guilt unfurling low in my chest. He thinks my sadness about my brother is tied to me being disowned. Because that is the lie I have allowed him to believe.
Desperate to shift the conversation, I blurt out, “We should celebrate your wonderful news!” My voice is too loud, my tone too forced, but I don’t care.
Pink’s smile returns, his warmth undeterred. “What did you have in mind?”
Inspiration strikes, sudden and bold. This could be my chance, the moment I’ve been waiting for. It is not an ideal time, but if I wait for our lives to be perfectly calm, I’ll be waiting forever.
“How about dinner? At a nice restaurant?” The words tumble out in a rush, and my heart hammers so loudly I’m sure he must hear it.
Pink blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Just me and you?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn’t think this through. It’s a strange way to celebrate Ned’s recovery, but I can’t backtrack now. “Yes!” I say, far too enthusiastically.
Pink blinks again, slower this time. “Like a date?”
His cheeks flush, the blush spreading quickly as his lips part in realization. He starts to speak again, likely to backpedal, but I cut him off, my own voice coming out sharper than intended.
“Yes. Exactly like a date.”
For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Pink stares at me, his beautiful eyes wide and unguarded. Then he takes a deep, shuddering breath, his expression softening into something indescribably tender.
“I’d love that,” he says.
And just like that, my heart feels like it might burst right out of my chest.
The restaurant is a cozy little place tucked away on a quiet street, its warm glow spilling out through frosted windows into the chill of the evening. I hold the door open for Pink, and as he steps inside, he looks around with wide eyes, taking in the low-hanging lights and the soft hum of conversation.
“This is… nice,” Pink says, his voice tinged with awe.
I smile. “I thought you’d like it. Nothing too fancy, but still special.”
His gaze flickers to me, and for a moment, I catch the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “It’s perfect,” he says softly.
The hostess leads us to a small table near the window, where a single candle flickers in the center. Pink sits down carefully, his hands resting awkwardly on his lap, as if unsure where they belong. I can’t help but find it endearing.
“This place is beautiful,” he says after a moment, glancing around again.
I settle into my chair, watching him. He seems to glow in the candlelight, his brown eyes warm and luminous. “I’m glad you think so,” I say, my voice quieter now.
A waiter arrives to take our drink orders, and Pink nervously fumbles with the menu, his eyes darting over the list of options.
“Do you like wine?” I ask gently.
He hesitates, then nods. “I think so? I don’t drink much.”
“Why don’t we try a bottle of red? If you don’t like it, we can get something else.”
He smiles, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Okay. I trust you.”
