I keep my makeup soft. Nothing bold and nothing that says I planned for this. Because the second I look like I planned for this, my brain will start building a future out of it.
And that’s where I get reckless.
I grab my keys, hesitate, then grab my phone.
I pause in the hallway with my hand on the doorknob, staring into the quiet of my own living room.
Last night, he stood right there. I let him close enough to remind my body of things I’ve spent years locking down.
I exhale, open the door, and step outside.
The air is cold in that early-evening way, the kind that makes you feel like you’re waking up. My porch light flickers once before steadying.
‘Normal night,’I remind myself.
Dinner. Talk. Boundaries.
No spiraling.
No turning this into something bigger than it can be.
I make it to the restaurant ten minutes early and sit in my car for seven of them, gripping the steering wheel like I need the pressure to keep me grounded.
At exactly seven, I walk in.
He’s already there. Of course he is.
Jace sits in a booth near the back, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms like he’s trying to look casual. Like he hasn’t spent his whole life being the kind of man people watch.
He looks up the second I step inside and his expression shifts.
Nothing exaggerated or dramatic. Just… like he’s relieved.
And that alone makes my throat tighten.
I force my feet to keep moving. Force my smile to stay in place. “Hey,” I say, sliding into the booth across from him.
“Hey,” he answers back, and his voice is quiet in a way that feelscareful. “You made it.”
“I live ten minutes away,” I say dryly. “It’d be concerning if I didn’t.”
His mouth tugs like he wants to smile fully, but he holds back.
That should be annoying. Instead, it feels like a kindness.
He studies me for a second. “You look nice.”
“I look like a person going to dinner,” I correct.
His eyes hold mine. “That’s what I meant.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I reach for the menu like it’s a shield. We do the normal parts. We order wine. We talk about safe things first.
Work. The weather. A player who made an incredible catch last Friday. A student who tried to sneak into an event with a fake badge.
I keep it light and controlled.
But every time his gaze drops to my mouth, my whole body tightens like it’s bracing for impact. And when he laughs, low and brief, I feel it in my ribs.
