He checked his watch. “You eaten?”
“Uh, I was going to?—”
“Good.” He was already turning. “Come on. I’ll take you to the good place.”
He didn’t wait for a yes. He walked, as if it had already been decided. And worse, she stood and followed.
Two blocks and several turns later, they reached a battered, silver food cart tucked between two high-rises. The awning was faded green. The steam hissed from vents. The air smelled like fried oil and garlic.
He steered her toward an aluminum table slightly off-kilter, having endured too many summers in this alley.
“Thisis the good place?” She giggled.
Definitely not Gage’s kind of eatery.
“Sit,” Rafael instructed, then went to order.
She sat carefully, not quite trusting the chair to take her weight.
“You look tired,” Rafael said as he returned, dropping two bottles of water and a stack of napkins in front of them.
She cracked hers open, took a sip, grimacing. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t say you look bad.”
Their food arrived—thick-cut fries drowning in mayonnaise, golden croquettes in paper cones balanced inside metal holders. Rafael slid them toward her like it was routine. Like he always fed her in alleyways that smelled like vinegar and heat.
She stared at it, then at him. “You come here often?”
“Surprised my taste isn’t five-star?”
“No. Just that you can eat like this and still look like that.”
His green eyes glowed, the corners creasing at her implication.
Her cheeks went warm. Then warmer. Probably glowing like a liability. Half exasperation, half embarrassment.
He let the moment hang for one more second. “Try one.”
She picked up a fry, bit into it. It shattered between her teeth, crisp, golden, thick enough to hold its own against the cool silk of mayonnaise. Salt, heat, and cream collided in a mouthful so perfect it almost felt indecent. Her eyes closed involuntarily, just for a moment.
“Wow.”
When she opened them again, he was watching her. She reached for her drink, mostly to give her hands something to do.
“Don’t forget who brought you here first,” he said, his deep voice dropping an octave lower.
Bea tried to relax as they shared food from the same containers. The alley hummed with motion. People moved past. The wind lifted their napkins. A car horn blared two streets over. The scene wasn’t the least bit provocative. Or romantic.
Yet it still felt…precarious. She thought of Gage. He’d be at his desk now, eating while reviewing contracts. He probably wouldn’t like this.
“How’s the internship?” Rafael asked after a while.
She paused mid-dip. “How did you know I was interning?”
He didn’t answer. She hadn’t really expected him to. Rafael was a Griffin. Which meant he basically had all the same connections Gage did.
“It’s fine,” she hedged.
