Chapter 4 A Different Kind of Date

The next week, the air between them became thicker-charged with a warmth neither of them acknowledged out loud. Their daily exchanges grew longer. Talia started timing her breaks around when Ethan arrived, and Ethan... well, he started asking questions.

About her favorite books. About what made her laugh. About why she always hummed when cleaning the counter.

Then one Wednesday, just as she was wiping down the espresso machine, he spoke without looking up from his phone.

"You get off at five, right?"

She paused mid-wipe. "Yes. Why?"

He closed the app on his screen and looked at her directly. "I'm taking you to dinner."

Talia blinked, trying not to drop the cloth. "That wasn't a question."

"Wasn't meant to be."

She laughed, unsure if he was joking.

"You're serious?"

"Very."

"Why?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Because I want to hear about the love stories you write. And because I'd like to see what your hair looks like when it's not trapped under that cap."

Her heart did something strange-an acrobatic flip and thud.

She looked down. "I don't do rich-people restaurants."

"It's not a rich-people thing. It's a you and me thing."

After a moment's hesitation, she looked up and smiled.

"Fine. But I'm choosing dessert."

That evening, he picked her up in a sleek black car that looked like it belonged in a movie. She wore a simple navy-blue dress and a denim jacket, her curls falling loosely down her shoulders.

"You clean up nice," he said, holding the door open for her.

"You expected me to show up in an apron?"

He smirked. "Wouldn't have complained."

The restaurant he chose was elegant but intimate. Warm lights. Soft jazz. A corner table with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Talia stared at the wine menu. "Some of these names sound like spells."

"Try the Merlot," he suggested. "It doesn't bite."

They ordered steak and risotto. For dessert-creme brûlée, of course.

Over dinner, they talked about more than just books. Ethan spoke of his childhood-stern parents, prep schools, a constant pressure to be perfect. Talia shared about her single mom who worked three jobs and a younger sister she helped raise.

And somewhere between the second glass of wine and the laughter that followed Ethan accidentally mispronouncing "tiramisu," something shifted again.

This time, it was unmistakable.

They weren't just two people passing time.