Page 61 of Trusting Mr. Sterling
“Yes.”
The car was waiting downstairs, a town car with a driver who called her “Ms. Thorne.” Gabriel helped her in, then slid in beside her, his hand finding her knee.
The restaurant was everything and nothing she had expected. Intimate. Candlelit. A place where the menu had no prices.
Gabriel greeted the maître d’ by name, who led them to a private corner table. He ordered wine without looking at the list.
“Do you come here often?”
“Yes, but never with a date.” He reached across the table and took her hand.
“That’s a line.”
“It’s the truth.”
Dinner was extraordinary. Course after course of food so good she stopped thinking about anything except the next bite.
“You keep looking at me,” she said.
“I’m noticing details.”
“Creepy.”
“Thorough.”
By dessert she had relaxed into something that felt almost normal. Conversation flowing. Laughter easy. The rhythm they had had before, before everything got complicated.
“Thursday,” Gabriel said over coffee.
“What about Thursday?”
“Next Thursday. My place. I’ll cook.”
“Eggs again?”
“Expand your expectations.” His eyes held hers. “I might surprise you.”
She was starting to believe him.
In the car afterward, he pulled her close.
“Stay tonight.”
“I have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ll set an alarm.”
“I can’t.”
“I bet I make better coffee than you do.”
She laughed. “That’s your argument?”
“My argument is I don’t want to say good night yet.” His forehead pressed against hers. “But I’ll take you home if you want.”
He meant it. She could hear it in his voice. There was no pressure or strategy. Just honesty.
Her apartment would be quiet. Predictable. Safe in the way solitude always was. She could go back there. Tell herself she wasn’t already leaning into him. Convince herself she didn’t want this.
