Inside, the air smelled like rosemary and butter and ambition. The host knew Nate—of course she did, Graham had personally invited him earlier in the week—and clocked me in the next breath. “Welcome,” she said. “Table for two?”
“Two,” Nate confirmed.
We landed at a small table with a commanding view: the bar, the open kitchen, the door. Nate’s fingers found mine under the table, a single quiet press. “Thirty minutes of politeness,” he murmured, “then leftover spaghetti.”
“Yes, with extra parm,” I said. “Non-negotiable.”
The server performed a sonnet about oysters and heritage carrots while the dining room hummed around us. Every table was full—pressed linen, flickering votives, wine glasses catching the light. Laughter rose and fell in practiced waves, the low roar of a place desperate to beseenas much as tasted. People leaned close, phones discreetly angled, eyes darting as if this were part dinner, part performance.
Nate ordered sparkling water; I asked for a white wine spritzer because if you’re being tortured like this, you should do it with carbonation and alcohol—and bonus, Graham thought wine spritzers had no class.
He arrived as if on cue, cut to fit, smile calibrated to competitive arrogance. “Nate,” he said, warmth turned to high. “Glad you made it. Appreciate you accepting my invitation.” His gaze slid to me. “Eliza. You look wonderful as always.”
“Thank you,” I murmured and watched him carefully to see which way he wanted this conversation to go.
He smiled at Nate, mild curiosity in his tone: “Finding your footing yet?”
“Feels solid,” Nate replied. “Congratulations on the opening.”
“Thank you,” Graham said. “It’s been a lot to orchestrate. But totally worth it, as you can see.”
His gaze slid to me, voice lowering just enough to feel private. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would.” A pause. “You’ve been keeping a lower profile lately.”
That familiar pressure tightened under my ribs—the old instinct to shrink, to justify myself to him. I kept my smile pleasant and sharp. “Busy enjoying my life,” I said. “You should try it sometime.”
Nate’s thumb brushed my wrist once, calm and soft, a quiet reassurance.
Graham’s smile flickered—so fast someone not looking for it would’ve missed it. “Of course,” he said lightly. “Enjoy the restaurant.” The words landed with a faint emphasis, like a reminder that we were in his territory. He was already moving again, greeting staff, clapping a cook on the shoulder as if nothing had happened.
I exhaled. “That was restrained. For him.”
Nate leaned closer, voice dry. “If that was restraint, I’d hate to see the director’s cut. The man is an ass.”
I grabbed my drink and sipped it to calm my nerves.
I looked up as the door chimed.
A Darlington sister parade walked in like the place had been waiting for them. They spotted us instantly. Then, like swallows changing direction mid-sky, they headed my way.
Piper reached us first, because of course she did. “You look devastating,” she said, kissing my cheek. “We were definitely coming tonight, but with the things we’ve heard around town, we decided to capital-letter SHOW UP.”
Graham, noticing my sisters’ arrival, turned around and headed our way.
Great.
“Hi,” Lucy chirped, hugging me first, then flashing Nate a smile that was all sincerity. “We’re usually very chill,” she told him. “Tonight is a dressed-up deviation that could end up decidedlyun-chill depending on whether the oldest two Darlingtons decide to play nice or not.”
“Extremely chill,” Cara agreed, calm and observant, her gaze taking in the room like she was cataloging a library. She angled closer to me. “But tonight is for Eliza, and we’re ready for—whatever comes up, or whoever decides to start something.”
Graham returned for a second lap, confidence still polished but worn thinner now, like he’d already used it too much tonight. “Ladies,” he said warmly. “Glad you made it.”
Paige took an appetizer from a passing server’s tray and popped it into her mouth. “Congrats on the lighting,” she said to him, deadpan. “Ambience is ninety percent of a restaurant when the food is tiny and weird.”
Lucy smiled, bright and polite. Cara nodded, measured. They had both clocked the tension and didn’t comment on it.
“Congrats on the opening,” Piper said easily, stepping in just enough to close the circle. “It looks beautiful.”
Graham’s charm flexed. “I’m thrilled you’re here to support our culinary scene.”
