He exhales, clearly annoyed. “We’re on a date.”
“I know, I just wanted to,”
“Can you put that away?” he says, not smiling now.
My chest tightens. “Okay.” I slip my phone back into my purse, and unease creeps up my spine in a way I can’t ignore anymore.
The food arrives, and it looks incredible. Perfectly plated, steam still rising, everything exactly the way Grant promised it would be. I cut into the steak, take a bite, and nod because that feels like the polite thing to do, but I’m not really tasting it. I’m too busy listening to him talk about a car he just bought and a deal he’s negotiating and how his time is too valuable to waste on anything that doesn’t move him forward.
I push my risotto around my plate, take another small bite, and realize I’m more focused on watching the candle flicker between us than I am on what I’m eating. My wine glass is empty before I even notice I’ve finished it.
Grant doesn’t. He’s still talking, still confident, still filling every quiet space with his voice, and I’m sitting here wondering when this stopped feeling like a date and started feeling like a presentation I didn’t ask to attend.
When the server comes back and sets dessert menus on the table, I don’t even pick mine up. I just stare at it for a second, then at the city lights outside the window, and I know. I’m done. Not tired from work. Not overwhelmed by the noise. Just done trying to convince myself this is going somewhere I actually want to be. “I’m pretty tired,” I say gently. “I should probably head home.”
Grant’s mouth tightens, just a fraction. “Already?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice light even though my chest feels heavy. “It’s been a long week.”
He studies me for a beat, like he’s deciding whether to argue, then his expression smooths into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.” He signals the server before I can even reach for my purse, and when she comes over, he hands her his card without a word. She glances between us, probably clocking the weird energy, then nods and walks off to run it.
I sit there with my hands folded in my lap, staring at the candle between us, wishing I’d just listened to my gut and stayed home with my wine and my book.
The server comes back, sets the receipt down, and Grant signs it quickly, already pushing his chair back.
“Ready?” he says, like we didn’t just cut the night short.
“Yeah,” I murmur, standing and slipping my purse over my shoulder.
Outside, the night air is cooler, and the noise of the city rushes back in around us. The valet is already pulling Grant’s car up to the curb, and his hand settles at the small of my back as we walk, steady and warm, like he’s trying to guide me, or maybe trying to keep the night from slipping away completely.
“Hey,” he says quietly, slowing a little so I have to look at him. “If I came on too strong in there, that’s on me.”
I blink, surprised.
“I don’t usually get nervous,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that finally feels less polished and more… real. “But I haven’t been on an actual date in a while, and when I get talking about work, I forget to shut up.”
His thumb brushes my back, almost absentminded. “I really do like you, Brooke. I’d like to spend more time together. Actually get to know you.” Something in my chest softens, just a little. “I know I talked way too much about myself,” he adds, giving a small, self-aware huff. “That wasn’t fair to you.”
The valet pulls up, and Grant thanks him, slipping him cash before opening my door. For a second, standing there under the glow of streetlights with his hand still at my back and that sincere look on his face, I wonder if maybe I judged him too fast. Maybe he’s just awkward and intense and not great at firstimpressions. Maybe he’s just nervous, like he said. “It’s okay,” I say, wanting to believe him. “First dates are weird.”
His smile returns. “Yeah. They really are.”
He closes my door and walks around to the driver’s side, and as we pull away from the curb, I try to relax, telling myself that this is probably just the part where things even out and the night ends on a better note.
The ride back is quiet, but not in a tense way at first. More like… thoughtful. Streetlights blur past, and I keep glancing at my phone in my purse, wishing I’d texted Bella anyway, but also telling myself I don’t need rescuing from a slightly awkward date.
For a few minutes, it almost feels normal. Then he turns down a darker road instead of heading toward my neighborhood.
“Where are we going?” I ask, pulse spiking.
“Just somewhere private,” he says. “We barely got to know each other tonight.”
“I said I was tired, Grant. I just want to go home.”
He pulls into a secluded overlook and parks, then turns toward me and kisses me without warning, hard and demanding, nothing like the flirty confidence from earlier.
I pull back. “Grant, stop.”
