We grab a booth in the back corner—discreet, as promised—and unwrap our food. Zayden got the Italian sub. I got chicken salad on sourdough. We’re eating out of paper baskets like teenagers on a lunch break.
“You know,” I say, popping a chip into my mouth, “this is technically our first date.”
Zayden pauses mid-bite. “This is not a date.”
“We’re sitting across from each other, eating food, having a conversation. That’s a date. Plus… you insisted on paying.”
“This is a plastic basket and fluorescent lighting. This is not a date.” He sets down his sandwich, looking almost offended. “When I take you on a date—a real date—there will be candles. And wine. And food that doesn’t come with a number.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That sounds very romantic.”
“I’m serious.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m going to do this right, Tori. Dinner reservations. Flowers. The whole thing.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “You deserve to be taken out properly. Not snuck around with. Not hidden. Properly.”
My chest tightens. “Zayden...”
“Tomorrow night,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He grins. “But I promise it won’t involve a pickup counter.”
I laugh, and it feels like the first real laugh I’ve had in days. Maybe weeks. “Fine. Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”
“It’s a date.” He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “A real one this time.”
We finish our sandwiches, talking about nothing important—his skate this morning, the game tonight, my new assignment, whether Italian subs are superior to meatball subs (they are, and I will die on this hill). It’s easy. Normal. The kind of conversation couples have all the time, except we’ve never been a normal couple. We’ve been stolen moments, secret texts, and constant fear of getting caught.
Maybe we can finally be something else.
Zayden reaches across the table and wipes a smear of mayonnaise from the corner of my mouth. “You’re a mess,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Your mess, apparently.”
“Apparently.” He leans in, and I meet him halfway, our lips brushing in a soft, quick kiss that still manages to make my toes curl. “We should head back.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
My phone buzzes, breaking the moment. I glance down, expecting Dana, James, or some work emergency.
It’s Winnie.
Winnie:I broke up with Derek.
I stare at the screen. Holy plot twist.
Winnie:Or he broke up with me. Not sure. Either way, it’s over.
Winnie:I’m fine. I think. Maybe. Can we talk later?
“Everything okay?” Zayden asks.
“Yeah, I...” I look up at him, then back at my phone. “Winnie just texted. She and Derek broke up.”
