"I thought you might be hungry." Calvin doesn't ask if I am. He just assumes, takes control. "I know a place that's still serving at this hour."
My stomach chooses that moment to growl embarrassingly loud. I've been on my feet for twelve hours straight, running between tables, too busy for a proper break. Calvin's lips curve into a satisfied smile.
"When was the last time you ate, little bird?"
The nickname makes something flutter in my chest. "Breakfast," I admit. "Just some toast."
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he's angry with me. But then he reaches out, his large hand engulfing mine, and the strangest thing happens—I exhale. Like I've been holding my breath for years and can finally let it go.
"Tell me about your life, Wren," he says, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. "Tell me everything."
No one's ever asked me that before, not really. People don't care about the girl refilling their drinks or taking their orders. I'm background noise to them, a necessary function but not a person. Calvin is looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
"There's not much to tell," I start, but he shakes his head.
"Don't do that. Don't make yourself small."
The rebuke is gentle but firm, and it makes me sit up straighter. "Sorry—I mean—it's just habit, I guess."
"Break it," he says simply. "For me."
And just like that, I want to. I want to do anything he asks when he looks at me with those intense eyes.
"I work three jobs," I tell him. "The gala where we met, the bar you just... came to, and mornings at a coffee shop downtown. I'm trying to save enough to go back to school, but it's slow going."
Calvin's hand shifts from mine to my thigh. The touch is possessive, warm through the thin material of my work pants. My breath catches. I should move away. I should be offended orscared. Instead, I find myself fighting the urge to lean into his touch.
"Your parents?" he asks.
"Car accident. Five years ago." The familiar pain resurfaces, duller now but never gone. "They didn't have much insurance. What little they had went to medical bills and the funeral."
His hand tightens on my thigh, not painfully, but firmly. Claiming. "You've been alone since then."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "I had to drop out of college. Couldn't afford it anymore. I still have the loans, though." I try to laugh, but it comes out brittle.
"What were you studying?"
"Graphic design. I was good at it, too." For once, I say it without downplaying my talents. Something about Calvin makes me want to be honest about everything.
"So smart," he murmurs, and the praise washes over me like warm honey. "Such a good girl, working so hard all alone."
Good girl.The words sink into my skin, light me up from within. I've never been called that before, not as an adult. It should sound condescending, but from Calvin's lips, it feels like a caress.
His hand moves higher on my thigh, fingers stroking small circles. My body responds in ways I don't understand, an ache blooming between my legs. I shift in the seat, confused by my own reaction.
"Your apartment?" he prompts.
"It's tiny. In Parkdale." The worst area of the city, but all I can afford. "I had a roommate until recently, but she moved in with her boyfriend. I've been picking up extra shifts to cover her half of the rent."
Calvin's free hand curls into a fist on his knee, the only sign of his displeasure. "Do you feel safe there?"
The question startles me. No one's asked me that before either. Do I feel safe? "Not really," I admit. "The lock on the main door is broken. My neighbor plays music until 3 AM. There was a break-in on my floor last month."
"That ends tonight," he says with such certainty that I almost believe him. "You're not staying there anymore."
I blink at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I said." His hand slides higher, resting now at the juncture where my thigh meets my hip. Heat radiates from his palm. "No more shitty apartment. No more triple shifts. No more worrying about paying bills."
