[Sophie’s POV]

I don’t expect the restaurant to feel like this when Adrian opens the door for me and the noise folds back in on itself. I expect it to be polished and expensive in a way that reminds you of your bank account and your place in the world. I expect the kind of quiet that makes you lower your voice automatically, like the room itself is judging you. What I don’t expect is the way my shoulders drop the second I sit down, like my body recognizes that tonight is not a performance.

Adrian sits across from me, not angled forward like he’s preparing to argue or claim territory, not scanning the room like he’s measuring threats. He’s just there. His jacket is off, his sleeves pushed back slightly, his posture relaxed in a way I’ve learned to associate with rare moments of safety. The way he looks at me doesn’t feel sharp or possessive. It feels attentive, like he’s listening with his eyes.

“You’re staring,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual even though my pulse is doing something reckless under my ribs.

“I know,” he replies easily, lifting his glass without breaking eye contact. “I missed seeing you like this.”

I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of myself in a way that’s different from being watched. “Like what?” I ask, even though I already feel the answer sitting between us.

“Unbraced,” he says. “Not managing anyone. Not carrying the whole emotional load like it’s your job title.”

The words land heavier than I expect, and I let out a slow breath before I can stop myself. “You make it sound like I’m doing something heroic.”

“You are,” he says calmly, like this is not a debate. “You just don’t get rewarded for emotional labor unless something breaks.”

The waiter approaches, and Adrian orders without glancing at the menu again, confident and direct. When the waiter turns to me, Adrian doesn’t jump in or try to guide me. He just looks at me, waiting.

“You?” he asks, his tone open.

I blink, caught off guard. “You’re not going to choose for me?”

“Not tonight,” he says, his mouth curving slightly.

It shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does. The space he leaves me. The permission embedded in his restraint. I scan the menu more slowly than necessary, then close it.

“I’ll have the gnocchi,” I say, then hesitate before adding, “And the wine.”

He nods once, like I’ve made exactly the right choice.

When the waiter leaves, silence settles between us, but it doesn’t feel sharp or loaded. It feels dense, like a blanket instead of a threat. The kind of quiet that doesn’t rush you to fill it.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say after a moment, tracing the edge of my napkin with my finger.

“I wanted to,” Adrian replies. “And I needed to.”

I look up at him. “Those are not the same thing.”

“They’re not,” he agrees. “They can coexist.”

I study him openly now. The cut of his jacket. The way he’s leaning back instead of forward, not crowding my space, not asserting himself. It’s unsettling in the best way.

“You’re being gentle,” I say carefully, like I’m testing the word.

He exhales slowly and drags his fingertips across the tablecloth, grounding himself. “I know that’s not my brand.”

“No,” I admit. “It really isn’t.”

“I don’t need an audience to be soft with you,” he says. “I need you to know it exists.”

Something in my chest loosens at that, a tightness I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not trying to,” he says. “I’m showing you who I am when I’m not competing.”

The food arrives, steam curling up between us, and for a while we talk about things that don’t feel like landmines. I tell him about the manuscript I’m editing and the author who keeps rewriting the same chapter because she’s afraid of being seen too clearly. He tells me about a meeting that drained him and the way the city feels louder than it used to. It’s almost normal, and that’s the dangerous part. Normal builds expectations quietly.

Halfway through the meal, Adrian sets his fork down and looks at me with an intensity that makes my stomach tighten.

“There’s something I need to say,” he tells me.

I straighten automatically, my body bracing before my mind catches up. “Okay.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify