“Nope,” he replies without hesitation. “Do you want to get some hot chocolate? It’s freezing out.”
My eyes light up at the suggestion.
Silas catches my expression and flashes a grin. “I know the perfect spot for it. Want to check the menu before we get there?” he asks.
How does he know I need to do that first?
“I know spontaneity’s your worst enemy, Bunny. Or at least it used to be. What changed?”
Damn it.Did I say that out loud again? “Well,” I start, trying to recover, “once I got diagnosed, it became easier to face certain situations. Therapy’s helped me a lot over the years.”
He glances over. “When were you diagnosed?”
“When I was twenty-one.”
“Wow, you were already an adult.”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat, staring out the window. “Women tend to get diagnosed later. Apparently, we’re good at pretending to fit in.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he says, flicking on the blinker and merging onto the avenue. “You all have to pretend all the time to avoid uncomfortable situations.”
I nod, surprised. I didn’t expect him to understand, let alone be so empathetic about it. Silas Walker, more in tune than I thought.
When we arrive, I realize we’re at a New York gem—La Vie En Rose, the famous Parisian café just a few blocks from Silas’s apartment on Fifth Avenue. The place is perched on a stunning terrace, with windows offering views in every direction. It’s cozy, the kind of place that instantly makes you feel at home, with soft jazz—or something equally melodic—playing in the background.
The decor is quintessentially French, of course. Vines trail down from the corners and weave above our heads, giving the place a whimsical feel. Silas leads me to the most secluded table, tucked away with an incredible view. It’s so picturesque I feel compelled to take a photo, and once I start, I can’t stop. The last time I took pictures with this much enthusiasm was during autumn in Central Park—those vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges turn the park into a living postcard.
“I can see you like the place,” Silas says with a trace of pride in his voice.
“Yeah, I’ve read about this café online, but never had the chance to visit.” I smile even wider when the waitress sets down a hot chocolate and apain au chocolatin front of me. I snap a quick photo. Silas orders the same drink, but instead of a pastry, he opts for something delicate and shiny, alongside a croissant dusted with powdered sugar and almond flakes.
He stirs stevia into his coffee. “What was your favorite song when you were a teenager?”
“‘With You’ by Linkin Park,” I say without hesitation. I must have played that song at least four hundred times.
Silas nods, taking a sip of his coffee.
“And yours?” I ask, curious.
“‘Eat You Alive’ by Limp Bizkit,” he replies, a grin tugging at his lips.
I can’t hide the look of distaste on my face, which makes him laugh.
“What?” he asks, amused.
“That song is a bit…”
“Obsessive? Creepy?” He grins wider. “Yeah, I know. But it spoke to me. That’s all I needed back then.” His eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes me shrink slightly, feeling exposed under his attention.
I know that song—it’s about a man consumed with obsession over a woman who doesn’t even acknowledge him. The thought stirs something unsettling inside me, but I shake it off, focusing back on my hot chocolate.
“Favorite quote?” Silas continues, keeping the conversation going.
“I thought I was the one asking the questions here,” I tease back.
“Don’t you like my questions, Miss Green?” He leans his arm casually on the chair beside him, a playful glint in his eyes. He’s clearly more at ease now, settling into this back-and-forth.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, watching as his gaze drifts—shamelessly—over my chest. Surprisingly, I don’t mind. In fact, I might actually like this kind of attention. Not like the attention I got in school, the kind that made me feel small.
