Not hard.Not panicked.Just enough to make me suddenly aware of every beat.
“I… work.”
“I know.”
“Most days.”
“I know that too.”
I stare at him.He stares right back.Then, because apparently he has decided subtlety is no longer necessary, he says, “I’m asking you on a date, Lucy.”
For one full second, my brain completely empties.
A date.
He’s asking me on a date.Not hinting.Not circling.Not making some vague suggestion about festivals or coffee or breakfast.
A date.
I laugh softly out of sheer shock.“You are?”
“Yeah.”
Like this is obvious.Like there is no universe in which he wouldn’t.I grip the strap of my purse tighter.My mouth is dry.I should say no.I should.
This is complicated.He’s older.Far older.He’s deeply entangled in a life that has danger stitched into it whether he admits it or not.
And me?I have Quinn.Bills.A schedule so tight I barely sleep.A heart that is still trying to remember how to trust without flinching.This should not be tempting.
And yet…It is.
Wildly.
“What kind of date?”I ask, because apparently some part of me has already moved past refusing and into logistical concerns.
One corner of his mouth lifts.
“Dinner.”
“Just dinner.”
“For a first date, yeah.”
The phrase first date sends a ridiculous amount of heat rushing through me.
He notices.Of course he does.And he doesn’t rescue me from it.He just waits.Giving me room.Giving me a choice.That more than anything else is what makes the answer come.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
His expression changes slightly.Not much.But enough that I know the answer matters to him.
“Okay?”I nod.
“Okay.Good.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at the way he says, “Good.”Then he steps back, giving me just enough space to breathe again.“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
I blink.“You already had a time in mind?”
