Through the crack in the door, I hear the rustle of paper. She’s probably curled on the couch right now, deciding between pasta or steak, acting like she hasn’t just turned my world inside out.
And God, I want to go out there. To sit across from her and ask about every detail of her life—what makes her laugh, what keeps her awake at night, why she looks at me like I’m both a lifeline and a threat.
Instead, I’m here. Hiding like a coward behind a blank phone screen, pretending to work while she hums softly to herself, unaware I’m listening.
I push to my feet, shove the phone back in my pocket, and pace the room. I can’t sit here while she’s out there, softening the edges of this night without me.
I need to be near her.
Even if all I do is sit beside her and pretend like I’m not dying to touch her again.
When I step back into the suite, she’s curled into the corner of the couch, her legs tucked under her, menu balanced across her lap. She looks so out of place here—like the luxury hasn’t touched her at all. She could be anywhere, in any room, and still look like the most dangerous thing in it.
She glances up when she hears me. “Finished with your phone calls?”
I nod, ignoring the fact that my phone hasn’t buzzed once. “Yeah.”
“Good,” she says, flipping the menu closed. “Because I’m starving.”
There’s something in her tone—lighter, easier than the tension we’ve been carrying since the courthouse. It pulls me closer before I can stop myself.
I drop into the armchair opposite her. “Order whatever you want.”
She smirks. “Dangerous thing to say to a girl who loves dessert first.”
“Then order dessert first.”
Her brows lift. “Really?”
I lean back, stretching out my legs, letting my gaze sweep over her. “Sweetheart, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll have.”
Her eyes soften, and she fiddles with the edge of the menu like she’s trying not to smile.
Sweetheart.
The word hangs between us again, heavier this time. I don’t tell her how natural it felt, how much I meant it. Because I've never called anyone that. Not women. Not lovers. No one.
But it fits her. It is her.
And that terrifies me.
I clear my throat and nod toward the table. “Let’s make a deal. You order the food, but we play a game while we wait.”
Suspicion flickers across her face. “What kind of game?”
“Question for question. You answer one, then I do.”
She narrows her eyes. “And if I don’t like your question?”
“Then you lie. But I’ll know.”
Her lips twitch. “Confident, aren’t you?”
I let a small smile tug at my mouth. “Always.”
She rolls her eyes but sets the menu down. “Fine. You start.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
