Maybe it was.
I don’t realize I’ve slowed to a stop until Dex’s hand tightens gently around mine, grounding me.
“Told you it wasn’t just a show,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the brush of his voice against my ear.
Before I can respond, a man steps toward us from the side, wiping his hands on a cloth, his grin wide and easy like he’s been expecting us.
“Dex Hawthorne,” he calls out over the music, his voice carrying with practiced ease. “’Bout time you showed your face in here again.”
Dex huffs out a quiet laugh beside me, giving the man a quick nod. “Been busy.”
The man’s gaze shifts to me, sharp but not unkind, taking me in for just a second before his smile deepens.
“This the reason?” he asks, amusement threading through his tone.
Heat creeps up my neck, but Dex doesn’t even hesitate.
“Yeah.”
Something about the way he says it, easy, certain, makes my stomach flip.
“Well then,” the man claps his hands together once, satisfied. “Good thing you called ahead. Got your table ready.”
He jerks his chin toward the staircase winding up along the side of the theater. “Best seat in the house. Top floor. Secluded enough you won’t be bothered, but still got the view.”
Dex glances down at me, something softer slipping into his expression now. “C’mon, Tinker.”
We follow him up, the sound of music softening just slightly as we climb higher, the glow of the lights dimmer, more intimate the further we go. By the time we reach the top, the space opens into a smaller section of the balcony, tucked away from the rest.
Our table sits near the railing, just far enough to feel private, but close enough that the stage below stretches out perfectly in view. The lights flicker low around us, casting everything in warm gold, the kind that makes the world feel slower, softer.
“Wow…” I breathe, stepping closer to the edge, my fingers brushing lightly against the smooth wood of the railing. “This place is…”
“Different?” Dex offers, pulling out my chair.
I glance back at him, smiling. “Yeah… but in the best way.”
He nods once, like that’s exactly what he was going for.
We settle in, and after ordering, the night begins to stretch out in a way I’m not used to. No rush. No one calling our names. Just the quiet hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the steady pull of music threading through everything.
Dex watches me more than the stage.
I feel it every time I look up.
“What?” I ask, lifting my drink.
“Nothing,” he says, leaning back slightly, one arm draped over the chair. “Just like lookin’ at you.”
“You’ve seen me before.”
“Not like this.”
My fingers still against the glass.
The way he says it, it’s not a line. Just truth.
Something warmer settles in my chest.
