The moment Lucas approached our table, I realized exactly what this was.
A setup.
My gaze cuts to Evelyn as her nephew flips open the menu and scans it with quiet confidence. My boss sips her wine, the picture of grace and innocence, as if she hasn’t orchestrated the entire evening.
As much as I’d love to call her out, I won’t do that in front of Lucus. Maybe this is the push I needed. Maybe now Oliver will accept the truth and move on.
The thought settles deep within, equal parts sorrow and relief, and I can’t decide which cuts deeper.
I refocus my attention on the menu. The salmon special, the roasted beets, the overpriced side of greens. The dishes blur as my skin prickles with awareness.
He’s still watching me.
Even from across the crowded dining room, I feel his attention like a live wire threaded beneath my skin. The man is relentless, and it’s impossible to pretend I’m not aware of him on the most basic level.
Just as the waiter appears with an iPad, ready to take our orders, Hugh slides into the only vacant seat at our table. The man moves with the casual confidence of someone used to owning any room he steps into. I don’t miss the intimate way his hand brushes the back of Evelyn’s chair.
“I hope there’s room for one more,” he says lightly, gaze cutting to Evelyn with quiet intent, as if daring her to say otherwise.
Her spine goes rigid, pleasant smile snapping tight. “Actually, I’m afraid there isn’t.”
“Really?” His tone is all polite challenge. “Is this seat already taken?”
“Yes.”
He picks up a menu, calm as can be. “Funny. You didn’t mention dining out this evening.”
“I wasn’t under the impression I needed your permission,” she replies, tone clipped and smooth as glass.
“Perhaps I’d already made arrangements for us,” he volleys back.
The atmosphere shifts, growing charged and uncomfortable. Even Lucas seems to sense it, pretending to study the wine list while the waiter stares at his screen like it’s possible to disappear inside it.
Evelyn’s jaw tightens as Hugh leans closer. “Tell me, do you practice that frosty tone in the mirror, or does it come naturally?”
Her lashes lower. “If you find me so cold, perhaps you should move to a warmer seat.”
He chuckles. “And miss watching you pretend you don’t enjoy this? I don’t think so.”
Evelyn exhales, the sound full of long-suffering patience. “It’s strange how you mistake irritation for enjoyment.”
“Do I?” he counters, his grin lazy yet lethal. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re hanging on every word.”
She tips her chin in regal dismissal. “Please. I’ve heard better lines from second-rate politicians.”
“Ah, but none of them ever managed to make you blush.”
A faint flush creeps up her throat before she looks away. “Keep reaching, Hugh. One day, you just might say something that interests me.”
He laughs. “Sweetheart, I’ve always been interesting. You’re just the last one willing to admit it.”
Another sigh escapes her, but this time it sounds more like surrender than annoyance.
I lean back in my seat, half amused and half intrigued. This isn’t just banter. It’s a battle. A tug-of-war where neither of them wants to let go first. It makes me wonder what’s really going on between them.
Although, their back and forth isn’t enough to keep my mind off the man brooding on the other side of the restaurant. No matter how hard I try to force my attention elsewhere, my gaze continually drifts back to him. From the way he’s staring, it’s obvious he’s tuned Gabby out completely. His shoulders are squared, and elbows are braced on the table like he’s locked in for the long haul.
His focus doesn’t budge from me.
