Chapter 6 Date.

Playing with fire is tempting until it burns you."

My eyes keep darting to the rearview mirror as I shift in my seat.

"You okay, Camil?" Mike asks, concern written all over his face. One hand on the steering wheel, eyes still on the road. "You seem a bit tense."

"Well... is it just me, or is that car following us?" I nod toward the dark vehicle in the mirror.

He glances back. "I doubt it. I mean, why would anyone be following us? Did you steal something?" He chuckles.

"Not funny."

"Alright, alright. I'll take a turn ahead and see if they follow." He picks up speed, then takes a sharp left.

The car doesn't follow. It keeps going straight.

"You see?" He slows to a stop. "Nothing to worry about. Are you sure you're okay, Camil? I think all this might be a bit too much for you."

"Do we have a date or not?" I ask, still avoiding eye contact.

"Okaayy," he says, raising his hands in surrender. "Since you won't tell me anything..."

He restarts the engine, and we keep driving. The rest of the trip is oddly quiet.

He pulls up at one of the very famous Italian restaurants known for good pasta.

"We are here," he says unbuckling his seat belt and walking to the other side of the car.

He opens my side of the car and extends an arm. I take it and step out.

"Italian restaurants I love" I take a sniff of the air around me.

"I know you would, anything for my baby girl" he shuts the door and rakes his hand through mine.

We walk to the door.

Once inside I am immediately hit with the unmistakable aroma of lasagna.

We are taken to a seat by the open window. Mike pulls a seat for me and settles in.

"I can't take my eyes off you. You look... breathtaking."

I bat my lashes and offer a soft smile. "Well, thank you, Mike. You don't look bad yourself."

His lips curl into a smirk. "We'd have beautiful children, you know."

I roll my eyes and pretend not to hear that one, thankfully saved by the arrival of the waitress. She hands us the menus with a polite nod before walking away.

I skim through the options but already know what I want. I order the risotto. Mike chooses a margherita. In the background, a soft acoustic melody drifts through the restaurant, blending perfectly with the cozy atmosphere.

Our meals arrive quicker than expected. The scent hits me first, warm, creamy, rich. I take my first bite and pause. My eyes flutter shut as the flavors melt on my tongue.

When I open them, Mike is staring.

"What?" I ask with a grin. "This is so good. You really should've gone with this."

He leans over slightly, still watching me. "No thanks. I'm allergic."

My brows lift. "Seriously? To risotto?"

"Well, more like the Parmesan they use. Doesn't agree with me."

I nod slowly. "A whole lot I don't know about you."

He lifts his fork. "The same could be said about you."

There's a pause. Not awkward. Just curious.

He sets his fork down and leans forward a little, lowering his voice. "So, I'm curious. How did you land a job at The Nexus? From what I hear, it's tough to get in."

I dab at the corner of my mouth with a napkin before answering.

"You know... a little connection here and there. One moment I was sending out my résumé, and the next thing I know, I'm in." I chuckle, rubbing my hands together.

He tilts his head. "Happened fast though."

I don't respond.

He reads the silence and shifts the topic. "How's your sister, by the way?"

"She's good. Getting better. I couldn't be happier."

"That's great news, Camil. And how about you? When do I get invited over?"

"My mum's around for now," I reply, reaching for my glass. "But I'm okay. Really. I promise."

He leans back, watching me over the rim of his wine glass. "You know, there've been some... rumors."

My brow arches slightly. "Hmm?"

He hesitates, fingers tapping lightly against the base of his glass. "Don't worry. I don't believe them. I just... I know you wouldn't do those kinds of things."

His voice falters at the end. There's something cautious about the way he's looking at me now.

"What rumors, Mike?" My voice is quiet, but firm. I want to hear it.

He looks away, then back at me, clearly regretting bringing it up. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He reaches for my hand across the table. His touch is warm, steady.

"I just want you to know that if you ever need anything, help, money, whatever. I'm here for you. Always."

I pull my hand back gently.

He sighs and smiles softly.

"Can we change the subject?" I say feeling uncomfortable.

"Anything for you, beautiful."

I stare at him for a moment, unsure of how to feel.

He means well. That much is clear. But there's something about the way he said it, those rumors, the offer of money, it makes me feel... small. Like he sees me as someone broken. Someone to fix.

And I don't need fixing.

Not from him. Not from anyone.

I look down at my risotto, the warmth suddenly dulled. Maybe I'm overthinking. Maybe I'm just too sensitive. But the way he looked at me is like he knows something.

I poke at the food on my plate, trying to gather myself. I should be enjoying this. He's trying. He dressed up. Took me to a place he probably had to Google. Held the door. Complimented me. But instead, I'm sitting here calculating my next move. Watching my words. Smiling at the right time.

It's exhausting.

Maybe it's because I know he likes me more than I'll ever like him. Maybe it's because his kindness feels like pity. Or maybe it's because I'm still thinking about a certain man with cold eyes and a colder voice.

God, what is wrong with me?

I lift my glass and take a slow sip, letting the wine settle on my tongue. Mike is still talking, something about a weekend trip he once took to Miami. I nod. Smile. Pretend to listen. My mind, though, is far away.

Still stuck on what he didn't say.

Still wondering what he might know.

Still questioning whether I'm truly safe in this game I'm playing.

Because if people are already talking... how much time do I really have?

I glance back at Mike, rambling on, still smiling. He is trying.

And I feel a sting of guilt for sitting here.

I reach out, gently placing my hand on his arm. His words stop mid-sentence. He looks at me, surprised.

"Thank you, Mike," I say softly.

His brow lifts slightly. "For what?"

"For... tonight. For being thoughtful. For being here." I offer a smile. Small, but sincere.

I can see the way his eyes soften. Like he's relieved. Like maybe he was afraid he said too much.

He places his hand over mine and gives it a little squeeze. "Always."

I hold it there for a moment longer before slipping my hand back.

I don't owe him anything. But still... It's nice to be cared for.

Even if I can't give him what he wants.

We leave the restaurant quite late. The ride home is chatty. We joke, laugh, and talk about the weird guy at the table next to us who kept staring like he'd never seen two people eat before. I'm not even sure when we left the restaurant or how many songs have been played on the radio. It's that kind of night. Light and free.

Then the car stops, and I realize we're parked at my patio. He's already turned off the engine.

"I haven't felt this light in a while," I say, turning to him. "Thank you."

He smiles, soft and honest. "No, thank you... for looking gorgeous and making my night."

I roll my eyes a little, but I don't mean it. It was a compliment, and for once, it didn't feel like a line.

Then silence.

Not uncomfortable. Just... still.

He shifts slightly, eyes lingering. The air thickens.

Then slowly, he leans in.

My breath catches.

Is he trying to kiss me?

I lean back just enough to put space between us, blinking fast like I didn't notice. He pauses mid-motion, caught.

Another silence.

Then

My phone rings.