I grin. “We can add it to the baby registry.”
She groans and swats at me, but doesn’t let go. Neither do I.
Eventually, I scoop her into my arms and carry her down the hall to the shower. We rinse off together, slow and warm, her back pressed to my chest beneath the spray, fingers laced with mine. Not sexy. Not wild.
Just . . .us.
Once we’re dressed—I glance toward the door and ask, “Wanna go eat? So we can talk?”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “Where?”
“Here. In the building.” There’s a quiet restaurant tucked away. Private. Dim lighting and cloth napkins. I’ve never taken anyone there before.
“Sure, yeah.” She nods. “I’d like that.”
Downstairs, it’s almost empty. The host knows me but doesn’t make a thing of it. Leads us to a quiet booth tucked into a corner, with candlelight and soft jazz humming from invisible speakers.
The view is breathtaking.
We’re not eighty floors up, but we’re twelve—high enough to see the city stretching out in every direction. Rooftop pools glisten underthe sunlight. Cacti down below casting long shadows across perfectly landscaped walkways.
“This is unbelievable,” she murmurs again, leaning toward the glass with a little smile on her face.
And maybe it’s the candlelight, or the soft jazz playing, or the fact that I’ve seen her nakedtwicetoday, but I can’t stop watching her.
“What?” she asks, catching me.
“You.”
She arches a brow. “Me what?”
I shrug. “You look like you belong here.”
She snorts into her water. “In a swanky restaurant wearing a sundress from Target?”
Yes.
“Exactly.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the blush creep up her cheeks. Her hand slides across the table, and her fingers brush mine. And for a second, we just sit there, holding hands and talking and flirting as if this is any other date night.
We order.
Gaze at each other.
When the waiter returns with two plates, Annabelle twirls the pasta on her fork slowly and says, “I still can’t believe all this.”
“The food?”
“The fact that I’m here. That we’re here.” She gestures between us. “A few weeks ago I was leading your buddy Harris Bennett around and losing my marbles over that damn festival.” She tries to hide the smile tugging at her lips but fails. “Doesn’t it feel surreal? Like we skipped a hundred steps and now we’re just ...doingit.”
“Maybe we skipped the steps we didn’t need.”
Her smile fades into something quieter. “You don’t think we’re rushing it?”
“We’re not rushing. We’re just not waiting around for permission.”
She’s quiet several seconds. “Well, you’re very reassuring.”
