Cameron didn’t move for a second after she said it.

Not because he was unsure. Because he knew exactly how careful he wanted to be with an answer to that.

The room had gone quieter around them somehow. Not literally—glasses still clinked somewhere behind her, low music still drifted through the dark wood and candlelight—but at their table, everything had narrowed to her face, her glass still warm in her hand, and the truth she’d just laid down between them without trying to make it prettier than it was.

He felt that land all the way through him.

Not just the part about her not overthinking. Not just the part about not filtering.

The part about her not feeling like she had to.

That got him.

His hand moved before he said anything, reaching across the table slowly enough to give her room if she wanted it, until his fingers settled lightly over hers where they still rested near her glass.

Warm. Certain. Not crowding.

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly.

There was no performance in it. No line.

Just the truth, said exactly where it belonged.

His thumb brushed once over her knuckles, the smallest motion in the world, and his eyes stayed on hers.

“You don’t have to filter it for me. You don’t have to make it smaller so it feels easier to hand over. And you definitely don’t have to worry about being too much.”

That one came out steadier than anything else.

Because he meant it hard enough to feel it.

Cameron tipped his head slightly, his mouth pulling into the faintest, warmest smile—not enough to break the weight of the moment, just enough to soften the edges of it for her.

“You know what’s actually scary?” he asked, low and easy. “A woman sitting across from me in candlelight, sharing my steak, being honest, and somehow still thinking I might want less of her.”

The line could’ve landed heavier. Instead it landed close.

Not to overwhelm her. Just to answer her cleanly.

His fingers tightened the slightest bit around hers, then eased again.

“I’m here because I want to be,” he said. “Not because I’m being patient. Not because I’m waiting to see if you calm down enough to make me comfortable.”

A tiny pause.

“I’m here because this feels right. And because you talking to me like this doesn’t scare me off.” His mouth curved a little more. “It does the exact opposite, actually.”

That got a little warmth back into the air between them, enough to let her breathe inside it.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

Didn’t need to.

The candle between them flickered, bending gold light over the rim of her glass and the back of his knuckles, and Cameron found himself absurdly grateful for the table—grateful for the fact that all he could do right then was hold her hand and look at her and tell the truth, because anything more would’ve been too much and not enough at the same time.

When he spoke again, it came softer.

“And as for moving too fast…”

He let that sit a beat, not because he was stalling, because he wanted the next part to land right.

“I don’t feel rushed.” His thumb moved once over her skin. “I feel lucky.”

There.

That was the word.

Not trapped. Not overwhelmed. Not in over his head.

Lucky.

Lucky she was sitting here telling him the unfiltered version. Lucky she’d stopped checking every few seconds to see if she’d gone too far. Lucky she’d let the night become what it had become instead of running ahead of it and talking herself out of it.

Lucky, too, that she was still looking at him like she wanted the answer and was willing to stand there in it once she got it.

Cameron leaned back just a fraction, not enough to put distance between them, just enough to keep his voice easy when he said, “And for the record, I like the talking.”

A beat.

“Apparently a lot.”

That got the faintest grin into his mouth, but it didn’t cheapen anything.

“I like hearing what you think when you’re not editing it down for public consumption. I like knowing where your head goes when you’re comfortable enough to let it.” He tilted his head. “And I really like that you trust me with it.”

That last part came lower. Closer to the center.

Because that was what this was, under everything else.

Not just attraction. Not just good food and candles and a successful drive out of town.

Trust. In little pieces, maybe, but real enough to feel.

He held her gaze for a second longer, then finally let the warmth break into something a little easier around the edges.

“So no,” he said, “I’m not filing a complaint about you talking too much.”

His brows lifted just slightly.

“I’m encouraging it, actually.”

That got them back onto gentler ground without undoing any of what he’d just said, which felt exactly right.

Cameron let his hand slip from hers only long enough to pick up his glass, but the look he gave her over the rim stayed steady.

“And I agree with you,” he added after a sip, quieter now. “It is better this way.”

He set the glass back down, the stem clicking softly against the dark wood, and glanced once toward the dessert section of the menu before looking back at her.

“Though,” he said, a little more lightly, “now that we’ve apparently achieved emotional honesty over burrata and steak, I feel like dessert’s got a lot to live up to.”

His mouth tipped.

“Bad odds for cake, if I’m being honest.”

That eased some air back into the booth, but the warmth didn’t leave with it. It never really had.

He reached for the menu again, more to give them both something to do with the moment than because he needed it, then looked back up at her and said, “You know what I think?”

He didn’t wait.

“I think you’ve earned the right to pick something reckless.”

A small pause.

“Not because I’m trying to impress you.” His grin came back a little. “Because at this point, I’m curious what your dessert judgment says about you.”

He let that land where it wanted to, then added, “And before you answer, just know I am fully prepared to be charmed and concerned in equal measure.”

The line sat easily between them, warm and playful and threaded through with all the things he didn’t have to explain anymore.

Because she knew now.

She knew he meant it when he said stay exactly as you are. She knew he wasn’t keeping score. She knew he wasn’t trying to survive her honesty—he was asking for more of it.

And Cameron, sitting in the candlelight with her handprint still warm in his palm and the night stretching forward instead of closing down, realized he wasn’t guarding against anything anymore.

Not her. Not the next date. Not where this was going.

He was just in it.

So when he smiled at her again, it was with the kind of confidence that came from not needing to hide how much he wanted more of this—more talking, more honesty, more drives, more dinners, more of her saying exactly what she felt and trusting him not to flinch.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the dessert menu. “Tell me what sounds dangerous.”

Lucy didn’t pull her hand away when his settled over it.

If anything, her fingers shifted a little more into his, like she was answering him without interrupting.

“You don’t have to.”

Her eyes stayed on his, softer now, something in her expression loosening in a way she hadn’t really let herself do before tonight.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Not defensive. Not brushing it off.

Just… acknowledging it.

Her thumb moved lightly against his knuckles, a small, absent motion that felt more like instinct than decision.

“And I think I’m starting to believe you.”

That came out a little more honest than she probably would’ve let it last week.

But she didn’t take it back.

When he kept going—about not making it smaller, about not worrying about being too much—her lips pressed together for a second, her gaze dipping briefly to their hands before lifting back up to him.

There was a flicker of something there.

Not fear.

Relief.

“You’re making it really hard for me to go back to overthinking,” she murmured, a faint, almost shy smile pulling at her mouth.

“And I don’t hate that.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little more as he spoke, the tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying easing out of her piece by piece.

When he said he felt lucky, her breath caught just slightly—subtle, but there—and her eyes softened again in a way she didn’t try to hide this time.

“That’s… really unfair,” she said softly, but there was no bite to it.

Just warmth.

“Because now I feel like I can’t even pretend to play it cool.”

A small pause.

“Which I was already failing at.”

That one came easier, a hint of her humor threading back in, but it didn’t take away from the honesty underneath it.

When he said he liked the talking, that he liked hearing her like this—unfiltered—her expression shifted again, something quieter settling in her chest.

“You’re getting a very unedited version of me tonight,” she said, almost thoughtful. “Like… no quality control at all.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

“So if that backfires later, I’m blaming you.”

But she was smiling when she said it.

Soft. Easy. Not guarded.

When he said he was encouraging it, she let out a small breath through her nose, shaking her head just slightly like she didn’t quite know what to do with that.

“Okay,” she said, quieter again. “Then I guess I’ll just… keep doing it.”

Simple.

Like it didn’t need to be more complicated than that.

Her hand stayed under his until he pulled away for his drink, and she let it linger a second longer before easing back, fingers brushing lightly against the table near her glass.

“And yeah,” she added, softer, “it is better this way.”

Her eyes followed his toward the dessert menu, then back to his face as he started talking about it.

That small, amused smile came back.

“Bad odds for cake?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Wow. That’s bold.”

Her fingers reached for the menu as he slid it toward her, pulling it closer and opening it, her eyes scanning the list—this time actually reading.

“You’re setting it up to fail before it even gets here,” she added lightly. “That feels like sabotage.”

When he said she’d earned something reckless, her mouth curved again, a little slower this time.

“Yeah?” she said, glancing up at him through her lashes. “I like the sound of that.”

Her gaze dropped back to the menu, tracing the options.

Crème brûlée.

Butter cake.

Chocolate torte.

Cobbler.

Her lips pressed together slightly as she considered it, but there was something softer behind it now—less calculating, more… curious.

“What does my dessert judgment say about me?” she echoed, almost to herself.

Then she looked back up at him, eyes a little brighter.

“Probably that I don’t commit well to one thing,” she said, a quiet tease slipping back in.

Her finger tapped lightly against the page.

“I mean, crème brûlée feels like the obvious answer. Safe, classic, everyone likes it.”

A small pause.

“But the butter cake…” her mouth tipped, “…that feels like a bad decision in the best way.”

Her eyes flicked to his again, something warmer sitting underneath it.

“And the chocolate torte feels like something you regret halfway through but still finish anyway.”

She huffed a soft laugh under her breath, shaking her head slightly.

“See, this is exactly the problem.”

Her gaze dropped back to the menu, then lifted again, more certain now.

“I don’t want to pick one.”

There it was again.

Honest. Simple.

Her fingers slid the menu closed halfway as she leaned back slightly, still looking at him.

“I want the crème brûlée,” she said, counting it off lightly. “And the butter cake.”

A small beat.

“And maybe a bite of the chocolate torte if it shows up near me.”

Her brows lifted just a little.

“I’m not committing to that one yet.”

The corner of her mouth curved again, softer now.

“So I think my dessert judgment says I like options,” she added. “And I don’t feel like being reasonable when I don’t have to be.”

Her gaze stayed on his, something quiet and steady sitting underneath it all.

“And I don’t think you mind that.”

The first thing Cameron noticed was that she didn’t pull away.

Not even a little.

Her fingers settled more firmly into his when he answered her, and that tiny, instinctive shift hit him harder than half the bigger moments of the night had. Because there was no performance in it. No careful setup. Just Lucy, staying there with him, letting the truth sit where it landed instead of trying to outrun it.

When she said she was starting to believe him, something in his face softened before he could stop it.

Not dramatically. Just enough.

Enough that the warmth in his eyes lost the last of its teasing edge and turned into something quieter. More grateful.

“Good,” he said, and this time the word came out low and clean. “You should.”

There wasn’t any swagger in it. Not even confidence, exactly.

Just steadiness. The kind that didn’t need decorating.

His thumb brushed once over her knuckles again when she talked about him making it hard to go back to overthinking, and the little almost-shy smile she gave him after that did him in all over again.

He let out a soft breath through his nose and tipped his head slightly. “I can live with that.”

He meant the overthinking. The lack of it. The fact that she was sitting here, saying things cleanly, without all the extra layers she usually wrapped around them first.

Especially that.

When she called him unfair for making her feel like she couldn’t even fake her way back into cool detachment, Cameron’s mouth pulled slow at one corner.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That does sound like a rough night for you.”

But the line stayed warm. Too fond to count as a real tease.

Then she gave him the thing about no quality control, and he actually laughed.

Not loudly. Just enough to break across his face and settle there.

“I noticed,” he said. “And for the record, I’m very pro unedited.”

A beat.

“You should know that before you try blaming me for it later.”

That part he gave her with a little more shape in his grin, but there was something real underneath it all the same. He did like this. The straight line from her thoughts to her mouth without all the usual checkpoints in between. The way she said whatever landed and then just let it be hers.

It felt like trust. Messy, uncurated trust. And Cameron was not taking that lightly, even while he smiled about it.

When she said she’d just keep doing it, his brows lifted the slightest bit, and for one second he looked so openly pleased by that he couldn’t even help himself.

“Please do,” he said.

Quick. Immediate. Almost too easy.

Then he caught himself and huffed a quiet laugh, like maybe he knew how eager that had sounded and had decided not to care.

“Sorry,” he added, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “That came out fast.”

It had. And they both knew why.

Because he liked this. Liked her like this. Liked that she was no longer treating every honest thing like a live wire she had to handle with gloves on.

Then the dessert menu arrived between them, and Cameron let the air shift with it. Not away from what they’d just said. Just easier. Lighter. Enough that the night could keep breathing instead of tipping too hard into its own gravity.

He watched her read this time—really read—and the longer she scanned the options, the more the smile at the edge of his mouth grew.

Because he could already see it happening.

Not the choice. The resistance to making one.

And sure enough, by the time she started walking herself through the logic of each dessert, Cameron had set his glass down and gone fully still with amusement, just listening. Letting her talk herself into exactly what he’d suspected she wanted all along.

When she finished and admitted she wanted multiple things, his grin came easy.

“There she is,” he murmured, like he’d been waiting for her to say it.

Not in a mocking way. In a pleased one.

Like the truth had shown up exactly when he thought it would.

He leaned back into the booth, still relaxed, still holding the edge of the moment with just enough confidence to make it feel safe instead of slick.

“So what I’m hearing,” he said, “is that reasonable was never really in the running.”

His eyes stayed on hers when he said it.

Warm. A little flirty. Entirely too entertained by her.

“And no,” he added, before she could decide she needed to defend herself from that, “I do not mind.”

That one came softer.

He let it land before he kept going.

“Not even a little.”

Because he didn’t. Didn’t mind the options. Didn’t mind the appetite. Didn’t mind the fact that her instinct was never to flatten herself into one tidy, efficient choice if she didn’t actually want one.

If anything, he liked it.

More than liked it.

“I think your dessert judgment says you know exactly what sounds good, and you don’t see any reason to pretend otherwise just because somebody handed you a menu with boundaries on it.”

His mouth curved again.

“That feels pretty on brand.”

Then he tipped his head, studying her over the candlelight like he was genuinely taking the question apart instead of just flirting around it.

“And maybe,” he added, quieter now, “it says you like having room.”

A small pause.

“To want more than one thing. To not lock yourself into an answer too early. To leave yourself some space.”

That wasn’t a criticism. Didn’t sound like one either.

If anything, there was admiration in it.

Because he got that. Because he knew what it was to want room around something good instead of being made to pin it down too fast.

Cameron reached for the dessert menu with his free hand and glanced over it like he was now treating the whole thing as an official negotiation.

“Okay,” he said after a second, “here’s my professional opinion.”

That got the humor back where he wanted it.

“We get the crème brûlée, because you’re right, it’s earned its reputation. We get the butter cake, because clearly that one’s the troublemaker. And we let the chocolate torte remain mysterious for now because you’ve already assigned it a whole emotional arc and I don’t know if it can survive the pressure.”

He set the menu down again, satisfied with himself.

“That’s a strong system.”

A beat.

“Flexible. Curious. Slightly reckless. I respect it.”

Then his eyes flicked back up to hers, and the grin softened into something lower and warmer.

“And if you decide halfway through that you want a bite of something you didn’t commit to,” he said, “that also seems pretty fine to me.”

The line sat between them with more than dessert tucked inside it, and he knew she’d hear that. Knew she was too sharp not to.

He let her.

Didn’t crowd it. Didn’t explain it.

Just held her gaze and stayed there.

Then he signaled the server over with a quiet confidence that made it clear he had no intention of making her choose between the things she wanted just because a menu implied she should.

When the server arrived, Cameron ordered all three with the kind of calm certainty that suggested he did this all the time, even though they both knew he was enjoying himself far too much for that to be true.

Once they were alone again, he looked back at her and said, “There. Crisis managed.”

His brows lifted.

“You’re welcome.”

And that got him right back where he wanted them—warm, easy, just a little ridiculous, but with all the deeper things still alive underneath it.

He picked up his drink again, took a slow sip, then looked at her over the rim and smiled.

“You know what I think?” he said.

He lowered the glass.

“I think I like you best when you stop trying to be reasonable on purpose.”

That one he gave her without flinching.

Not because he wanted to corner her. Because it was true.

“The dangerous decisions,” he added, “the extra dessert, the hand across the table, the whole not-filtering-anything thing.”

His mouth tipped.

“Big fan.”

Then, because he wasn’t interested in leaving her sitting under that too long without air, he leaned back again and let the ease return.

“But I will say,” he added, “if this is how you order dessert, I’m gonna need to pace myself. You are expensive in a very specific way.”

The joke landed exactly where he wanted it to—light, affectionate, impossible to mistake for anything but appreciation.

And when he looked at her again after that, the expression on his face was open in that steady, romantic way she kept pulling out of him now.

No past in it. No old wound. No shadow of what they’d been before.

Just him. Now. At a candlelit table with Lucy Corbett, ordering too much dessert and enjoying the fact that she’d stopped pretending she only wanted one thing.

He smiled, slow and certain.

“I’m not complaining,” he said.

Lucy felt it—every bit of it.

The way he said good, like it wasn’t a question.
The way he didn’t flinch.
The way he wanted the unfiltered version of her instead of tolerating it.

It didn’t make her louder.

It made her softer.

Her fingers stayed in his, shifting just slightly when his thumb brushed over her knuckles again, like she was settling into it instead of reacting to it. Her gaze dipped for a second, a small breath leaving her before she looked back up at him, something quieter sitting in her eyes now.

“Okay,” she said again, but softer this time. More certain.

Not testing it anymore.

When he said he was pro unedited, that small smile tugged at her mouth again—warmer now, less guarded, like she wasn’t trying to manage how much she was giving him.

“Yeah, well…” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly along his hand again, “you’re getting a lot of it.”

A tiny pause.

“You asked for it.”

There was the faintest hint of teasing in it, but it didn’t hide anything.

When he told her to keep doing it—quick, easy, like it just came out—her brows lifted slightly, and she let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“That was fast,” she pointed out gently, her voice soft but amused.

But she didn’t make him take it back.

If anything, she leaned into it.

“I will,” she added, quieter. “Keep doing it.”

Simple. Honest.

Like she meant it.

Her attention shifted down to the menu again, but it didn’t stay there long. Not really. She felt him watching her, could tell he already knew where she was going with it, and by the time she admitted she didn’t want to choose just one, she was already smiling a little more openly.

And when he said there she is, something in her chest warmed in a way she didn’t try to hide.

“You make it sound like I’ve been hiding,” she murmured, glancing up at him.

But there was no edge to it.

Just a quiet awareness that… maybe she had been.

A little.

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table before settling again, closer to his this time without fully reaching.

When he said reasonable was never in the running, she huffed a soft laugh under her breath, shaking her head just slightly.

“Not tonight,” she admitted.

And she didn’t apologize for it.

Her gaze stayed on his as he talked through what it said about her—about wanting more than one thing, about leaving room—and something in her expression shifted again.

Slower.

More thoughtful.

“You’re… annoyingly good at that,” she said quietly.

A beat.

“Figuring things out like that.”

But there was no discomfort in it.

Just a kind of soft recognition.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And when he laid out the dessert plan—easy, confident, like it was obvious she shouldn’t have to pick—Lucy just watched him for a second, her mouth curving into something softer, almost fond.

“Wow,” she murmured. “Look at you.”

Her head tilted slightly.

“Supporting bad decisions in real time.”

There was a warmth in it that didn’t need to be dressed up.

And when he ordered all three without hesitation, she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head again—but she didn’t stop him.

Didn’t try to rein it in.

She liked it.

Liked that he didn’t make her shrink it down.

When he said crisis managed, she smiled—soft, easy—and lifted her glass, taking a small sip before setting it back down.

“Thank you,” she said lightly. “I feel very taken care of.”

But the way she said it—quieter, a little more sincere—meant something.

Her fingers drifted back toward his again, brushing lightly before settling against his hand for just a second, like she couldn’t quite help it.

When he said he liked her best like this, her gaze lifted fully to his again, something softer settling deeper.

“Yeah?” she asked quietly.

Not doubting.

Just… taking it in.

Her lips curved faintly.

“I think I like me better like this too.”

That one came out without overthinking.

And maybe that was the whole point.

When he teased her about being expensive, she huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured. “You literally just encouraged it.”

A small pause.

“But also… yeah.”

Her shoulders lifted in the smallest shrug, softer now, more relaxed than she’d been all night.

“I’m kind of… excited to be out,” she admitted.

That one was quieter.

More honest.

Her fingers toyed absently with the stem of her glass as she glanced down for a second, then back up at him.

“I don’t do this a lot,” she added. “Not like this.”

Her eyes flicked briefly around the room—the candlelight, the low music, the way everything felt a little slower here—before settling back on him.

“So I don’t really mind splurging a little.”

A faint smile pulled at her mouth.

“And whatever we don’t finish…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking to his for just a second longer than necessary, something a little more playful slipping back in.

“…we can deal with later.”

She didn’t spell it out.

Didn’t need to.

Her expression softened again almost immediately after, like she was aware of the line she’d just brushed but wasn’t trying to take it back either.

Just letting it exist.

Her fingers shifted again, brushing his once more before settling still, her voice quieter when she added—

“I’m just… having a good time.”

And that, more than anything else she’d said all night, felt like the truth she wasn’t trying to shape into anything else.

Cameron felt that one the second she said it.

Not the playful line about dealing with what was left later—though that absolutely landed and did a very specific kind of damage all on its own.

Not even the part about splurging, or the quiet little confession that she didn’t do this much.

It was the last thing.

The plainest thing.

She was having a good time.

And for a second, he just looked at her.

Really looked.

At the way her fingers kept finding his without quite meaning to. At the softness that had settled into her face and stayed. At the fact that she wasn’t armoring up around any of it tonight—not the restaurant, not the food, not him looking at her like this across the table.

Something warm and steady moved through his chest.

The kind that didn’t need showing off.

His mouth curved first, slower this time, and when he answered her his voice came out lower than before. Easier. Like he wasn’t trying to be clever about it.

“Good,” he said.

Just that at first.

Then he let out a soft breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting a little more. “That’s kind of the whole win for me.”

He meant it.

Not pulling off the place. Not getting the order right. Not managing to keep up with her when she decided to get dangerous with a fork and a low voice and those little lines that sounded casual until they hit him three seconds later.

This.

Her having a good time. Her sitting here, candlelight on her glass and her shoulders loose and her eyes warm, telling him the truth without needing to sand the edges off it first.

That was the part he’d wanted.

Cameron leaned back slightly in the booth, one arm stretched easy along the seat, the other hand still close enough to hers that one inch would close the distance again. His gaze slipped once to her mouth when she mentioned dealing with the leftovers later, then back up to her eyes with a look that made it very clear he had, in fact, heard exactly what she meant by it.

“Yeah?” he said, warmer now. “That sounds like a solid plan.”

A beat.

“I’m very committed to follow-through.”

That got the flirt back in where he wanted it—low, confident, easy enough not to push too hard. Just enough to let her know he’d caught the line and liked it maybe a little too much.

But when he kept going, the warmth underneath it stayed.

“And for the record,” he said, “I like taking care of you.”

That one came out simple too. No polish. No big setup.

He watched her face when he said it, not because he was trying to corner her, but because he wanted her to hear it in the exact spirit he meant it.

Not possession. Not obligation.

Just pleasure.

“Not in a weird, overbearing way,” he added, because she was still Lucy and he knew better than to leave a statement like that sitting there too tidy. “I just like that I get to.”

His thumb dragged once, absentmindedly, along the stem of his glass.

“The drive. Dinner. Too many desserts. You look pretty happy over there.” His mouth tipped. “That does something for me.”

There.

Clean enough to be honest. Easy enough not to make the room tip too far into itself.

When she’d said she liked herself better like this, that had stayed with him too. Maybe more than anything else.

He let that thought live in his face for a second before he said, quieter now, “I get that.”

His eyes held hers.

“The way you are tonight.” A tiny pause. “I get why you’d like her.”

That wasn’t about appearance. Wasn’t about the dress or the candlelight or the way everyone looked a little better in rooms like this.

It was about the way she was sitting in the evening. About the lack of apology. The lack of tension. The ease that kept slipping in and deciding to stay.

And because he was still himself—still a little funny even when he meant things hard—he added, “She’s got excellent taste in entrées and a dangerous relationship with dessert.”

The smile came back into it then, softer around the edges.

“And she’s great company.”

That part he let land more plainly.

The server drifted past another table with a tray of cocktails, and for a second the room shifted around them again—low voices, warm glass, soft music overhead—but Cameron barely noticed any of it.

He was too busy watching the way her fingers moved around the stem of her glass when she was thinking. Too busy liking the fact that she wasn’t trying to fill every silence anymore.

It made him bolder. Not recklessly. Just enough.

“So splurge,” he said after a moment. “Order the extra dessert. Keep stealing my food. Stay out later than you meant to.” His brows lifted slightly. “I’m not gonna be the one telling you to be reasonable.”

That one drew a grin out of him because it was so clearly true.

Not tonight. Not here. Not when this whole date felt like it had gotten good exactly because neither one of them was trying too hard to keep it contained.

And because she’d given him that line about later and just let it sit there like a small lit match between them, he let himself go one half-step further.

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping a little, “the fact that you’re already thinking ahead to later is doing a real number on my ability to act normal.”

He held her eyes when he said it. Not hiding the smile. Not hiding the effect either.

That was the thing about him now. He could tell the truth without turning it into a performance.

And the truth was, the idea of the rest of the night still existing after this—of the drive back, of her place, of boxes and half-finished dessert and maybe her barefoot in the kitchen again with candlelight still living somewhere on her skin—was almost embarrassingly appealing.

He didn’t pile onto it. Didn’t crowd the image.

Just let it warm the words enough that she’d hear it.

Then he eased it back with a small shake of his head, like he was reining himself in on purpose.

“You saying you’re excited to be out, though…” His gaze softened. “I like that.”

He meant that too.

Not because it was novel. Because it was hers.

“You should have nights you’re looking forward to.” A small pause. “Nights that feel worth putting on real clothes for.”

His mouth pulled slightly at one corner.

“And nights where somebody drives you somewhere with good lighting and solid bread and lets you order too much.”

That got the air moving again exactly the way he wanted.

Romantic, yes. But breathing. Still them.

He reached for his drink, took a slow sip, then set it back down and looked at her over the rim of the glass like he’d only just thought of something.

“And just so we’re clear,” he said, “I’m not judging the splurge.”

A beat.

“I’m enjoying it.”

His fingers drifted back toward hers on the table, not claiming, just close enough to make it easy if she wanted to bridge it again.

Because that was what tonight had become, wasn’t it?

Not guessing. Not forcing. Just leaving little doorways open and watching the other one walk through them.

Cameron tilted his head, the smile in his face smaller now but somehow more intimate because of it.

“And if you’re having a good time,” he said, “I’m probably having a better one.”

That one he gave her without disguise.

No joke fast enough to blunt it. No easy shrug.

Just confidence, flirtation, and something gentler all wound together.

Then his gaze dropped to the dessert menu and back to her, and the warmth in him turned playful again.

“So,” he murmured, “now that we’ve established you’re not interested in being reasonable, I think the only responsible thing left to do is decide which dessert gets first bite.”

His brows lifted.

“And before you answer, just know I’m prepared to argue my case very persuasively.”

Lucy let his words settle without rushing to meet them.

Not because she didn’t have something to say—but because for once, her brain wasn’t sprinting ahead trying to manage the moment. It just… stayed where she was. At the table. With him. With the soft clink of glasses somewhere behind his shoulder and the low piano drifting through the room.

Her thumb traced idly along the edge of her fork, catching a bit of candlelight on the metal before she glanced back up at him.

“You’re talking a lot,” she said softly.

There was no edge to it. If anything, there was something quietly fond in the way she said it—like she was noticing, not calling him out.

A small pause.

“I like it,” she added, just as simply.

She didn’t dress it up more than that.

Her gaze dropped back to the dessert, and she tapped the spoon lightly against the brûlée again, cracking a different corner this time like she was testing whether it would sound the same. It didn’t. She noticed that, too.

Weird what her brain picked up when it wasn’t busy overthinking.

She took a bite, slower this time, letting it sit for a second before she swallowed, her shoulders easing just a little more into the booth.

“Okay, that’s actually unfair,” she murmured, half to herself. “I get why people talk about it.”

She shifted one leg slightly under the table, her foot brushing against his ankle for a second before she stilled—then didn’t fully move it away, just let it rest close enough that it could happen again without effort.

Her eyes flicked back up to him.

“You did good,” she said.

No teasing this time. No half-credit.

Just that.

She watched his face for a second after—really watched, like she was letting herself take in the way he reacted to things instead of immediately deciding what it meant.

It felt… easier that way.

Her fingers curled loosely around her glass, but she didn’t lift it. Just let the cool condensation press against her fingertips while she studied him with that same quiet focus.

“Also,” she added after a second, her mouth curving slightly, “you’re a little too sure there’s a next one.”

A beat.

“But I’m not exactly arguing with you.”

That came softer.

Honest in a way that didn’t feel like a big reveal—just something she wasn’t bothering to hide.

She glanced down again, cutting another small piece of dessert without really needing it, more something to do with her hands than anything else. The spoon scraped lightly against the plate, and she absently dragged the edge of it through the melted sugar like she was tracing shapes she wasn’t fully paying attention to.

Then, almost like the thought had been sitting there for a minute—

Lucy shifted.

Not hesitantly this time.

She slid further into the booth in one smooth motion, tucking herself toward the wall and leaving a clear space beside her. The cushion dipped slightly as she moved, the fabric catching softly against her dress.

Her hand brushed his again on the way back, lingering just a second longer than before—intentional, but still easy.

She picked up her glass, took a small sip, then set it back down with a quiet tap.

“You can come sit over here,” she said, like it wasn’t a big deal.

But her fingers rested lightly against the seat next to her when she said it, absentmindedly smoothing the fabric once like she was making space without thinking about it too hard.

Her gaze lifted back to his, softer now.

A little more certain.

Like she’d already decided she wanted him closer—and was just giving him the option to catch up to it.

Cameron’s mouth curved the second she said it.

You’re talking a lot.

Not because he felt caught. Because she sounded like she was noticing something she liked and hadn’t decided to be embarrassed about yet.

That got him worse.

Especially when she followed it with that simple little I like it and just… left it there. No joke. No fast cover over the top of it. Just Lucy, in candlelight, telling him the truth like it had finally gotten easier to do.

He leaned back in the booth a fraction, looking at her with that warm, helpless kind of smile she kept dragging out of him tonight.

“Yeah?” he said softly. “Good.”

A beat.

“Because I’m havin’ a hard time shutting up around you tonight.”

The line came easy, low, lightly flirty—but there was too much truth in it to hide behind the joke for long. She kept giving him things to answer. Kept softening and reaching and saying quiet, honest little things that made it impossible for him to want to be cool instead of real.

Then she told him he’d done good.

No half-credit. No teasing edge. Just that.

And Cameron felt that land straight in the middle of him.

He looked at her for a second longer than he meant to, his fingers loose around the stem of his glass, expression gone quieter at the edges.

“Okay,” he said, voice lower now. “That one’s gonna stick with me.”

Because it would.

Not the steak. Not the dessert. Her saying it like that. Calm and direct and meaning it.

Then came the next one.

Not exactly arguing with him.

That pulled a slower smile out of him—one that settled instead of flashed. Something pleased, yes, but steadier than that. More certain.

“I know,” he said.

Simple. Confident. Not cocky.

He didn’t rush to dress it up more than that. Didn’t make her pay for giving him the truth cleanly. He just let her see that he heard it, believed it, and liked the sound of it maybe a little too much.

And then she moved.

That one got him all over again.

Not because of the seat itself. Because of the ease of it.

The way she slid over and made room beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world to want him there. The little brush of her hand. The absentminded smoothing of the fabric beside her. The look she gave him after—soft, sure, already decided.

Cameron didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at the space beside her, then back at her face, and the grin that started in his mouth came slow and warm.

“You say that like I was gonna think about it,” he murmured.

He set his glass down, pushed out of his side of the booth, and came around without any performance to it—no dragging it out, no pretending he wasn’t affected. If anything, the speed of it gave him away. He wanted closer, and apparently they were done pretending otherwise.

By the time he slid in beside her, the whole table felt different.

Smaller. Warmer. A little more dangerous in exactly the right way.

His thigh brushed hers first. Then his shoulder. Then the side of his arm as he settled in and angled slightly toward her instead of the table.

He looked down at her, close enough now to catch the softer details he’d been missing from across the candlelight—the faint flush still sitting in her cheeks, the way her lashes cast a little shadow when she glanced down, the exact shape of her mouth when she was trying not to smile too much.

“Much better,” he said quietly.

That one slipped out before he could help it.

Not because the old seat had been bad. Because this felt right immediately in a way that almost annoyed him for how easy it was.

He eased an arm along the back of the booth behind her—not draped over her, not presumptuous, just there. An open line. Space for her if she wanted it. His knee stayed angled toward hers beneath the table, and the little nearness of everything made the candle and plates and glasses feel almost incidental now.

Cameron glanced down at the dessert between them, then back at her.

“So,” he said, voice low and easy, “is this where I’m supposed to act normal while you keep feeding me impossible standards and excellent cake?”

His mouth tipped.

“Because I should be honest—I think that ship’s sailed.”

He picked up the dessert spoon, but instead of immediately taking a bite himself, he cut into the brûlée and lifted it toward her first, turning just enough in his seat that the gesture felt private even in the open room around them.

“Open,” he said softly.

The confidence in it wasn’t pushy. Just natural. Like of course he was going to feed her a bite now that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder and sharing dessert like two people who had forgotten the point of pretending to keep things separate.

When she took it, Cameron’s eyes stayed on her face, watching the way she reacted, watching the tiny shifts in her expression, and the satisfaction that moved through him at being this close to it made his grin deepen.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Still worth it.”

Then he took the next bite for himself, slower now, leaning back just enough to keep the mood easy, but not enough to put any real distance back between them.

“You know what I like about this?” he asked after swallowing.

He didn’t wait long before answering himself.

“The part where you keep deciding you want me closer and then acting like it’s not a big deal.”

His brows lifted just slightly, amused and warm.

“Very convincing.”

There was no accusation in it. Only fondness. Only the quiet thrill of being wanted in these small, undeniable ways and getting to watch her choose them one after another.

He let the spoon rest against the plate, his attention slipping briefly from the dessert to the line of her hand beside it, to the shape of her resting against the booth now that he was next to her instead of across from her.

Then his voice dropped a little lower.

“For the record, I like having you over there.” A tiny pause. “But I like this more.”

That sat between them for a beat, lit gold by the candle and warmed by the hush of the room.

Cameron turned his head just enough to look at her fully, and the confidence in him softened into something more openly romantic without losing itself.

“And since apparently we’re making choices tonight,” he said, “I’m gonna go ahead and say I’m very in favor of whatever this is.”

Not because he needed to name it right now. Because he liked it. Because he wanted her to know that without forcing it into anything bigger than what it already was.

He reached for the side of her glass, turning it a fraction where it sat near her hand, then let his fingers brush lightly over hers on the way back.

“You, me, too much dessert, one side of the booth.” His mouth curved. “Strong system.”

Then, because he couldn’t leave it there without pulling some air back into the moment, he nodded once toward the plate between them.

“Now tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you pull me over here because you wanted me closer…”

A beat.

“…or because it’s easier to steal my share of dessert from this angle?”

The look he gave her after that made it pretty clear he knew the answer he was hoping for.

Lucy felt the shift the second he slid in beside her.

It wasn’t just the closeness—it was how quickly it settled. Like there hadn’t actually been any question about it. Like this had been where they were heading all night and they’d finally stopped pretending otherwise.

Her shoulder brushed his, her knee angled naturally against his under the table, and for a second she just… sat there in it.

Letting herself feel it.

The warmth. The nearness. The way everything else in the room softened out a little around the edges.

When he said much better, her mouth curved faintly, but she didn’t look at him right away. She kept her gaze on the dessert for a second, dragging the spoon lightly through the brûlée again, like she needed something small and steady to hold onto before she looked back up.

But when she did—

he was right there.

Closer than before. Easier to read. Harder to ignore.

“You’re not even trying to act normal,” she murmured, softer now, her voice matching the smaller space between them.

Not a complaint.

Just noticing.

When he fed her the bite, she didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t make it a thing.

She leaned in just enough, took it from the spoon, her eyes flicking up to his for half a second in the middle of it—quick, quiet, a little charged—and then sat back again, slower this time.

“Still good,” she said, but her tone had shifted. Lower. Warmer.

More aware.

And when he called her out—wanting him closer—that’s what did it.

Lucy turned her head slightly toward him, studying his face for a second like she was deciding something.

Then she smiled.

Small.

Certain.

“I did,” she said simply.

No deflection. No teasing dodge this time.

Her hand came up, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of his jaw—not lingering, just enough to anchor the movement—

“Wanted you closer,” she added, softer now.

A beat.

“So I could do this.”

And then she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t quick this time.

It was slower, deeper—still soft, still careful, but with intention behind it. Her hand stayed light against his face for a second, her body angled toward his without hesitation now, like she wasn’t second-guessing whether she was allowed to want this.

Allowed to show it.

It lasted just long enough to shift the air between them again before she pulled back.

Not abruptly.

Not awkwardly.

Just… like she’d meant to do it, and that was enough.

Lucy settled back against the booth like nothing dramatic had happened, though there was a faint flush sitting warmer in her cheeks now.

She picked up her fork again, dragging it through the chocolate torte this time, cutting a small piece without rushing.

“I think this one might be better,” she murmured, half-focused on the plate, like she was grounding herself again through something simple.

She took a bite, thoughtful, then gave a small nod to herself.

“Yeah. That’s dangerous.”

When she looked back at him, there was the slightest smudge of chocolate at the edge of her top lip—barely there, something she clearly hadn’t noticed.

Her mouth curved again, softer now.

Then she cut another small piece, lifting it toward him the same way he had earlier.

“Your turn,” she said quietly.

The fork hovered between them, her wrist relaxed, her eyes on his again—warmer, a little more open than before.

Like the kiss hadn’t changed anything—

and had also changed everything just enough.

Cameron forgot the restaurant again.

Not completely.

Just enough that the low music and the candlelight and the quiet clink of glass somewhere behind them all slipped a little farther out while Lucy sat beside him with that faint flush in her cheeks and the taste of her still warm in his mouth.

She had said it plain.

Wanted you closer.

And then she had kissed him like she wasn’t borrowing the moment anymore—like she had every intention of standing in it fully and letting him feel exactly what she meant.

That alone would have been enough to wreck him.

Then she went and offered him dessert off her fork with a little smear of chocolate still at the edge of her mouth like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

Which was either wildly unfair or deeply strategic.

He hadn’t decided yet.

Cameron’s eyes dropped to the fork for half a second, then lifted back to her face, and the look in his eyes was so openly warm it almost tipped into disbelief again before he caught it.

Almost.

He leaned in and took the bite slowly, deliberate enough that the moment didn’t get lost in the motion. Not overplayed. Just intimate in that quiet, ridiculous way feeding each other dessert in a dark booth had apparently become for them.

He sat back again, chewing, his gaze still on her.

And then his mouth tipped.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s trouble.”

The torte. The kiss. Her. All of it.

He let the line sit exactly where it wanted to.

Then his eyes caught on the tiny smudge near her top lip, and something in his expression shifted—softened, focused, just this side of too intent.

He reached for her before he said anything, thumb brushing lightly at the corner of her mouth.

“There,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly.

The touch was gentle. Unhurried. Not the kind that called attention to itself unless you were already paying very close attention.

He was.

And once his thumb came away marked faintly with chocolate, Cameron glanced at it, then back at her, the slow grin returning to his mouth.

“That would’ve driven me insane,” he said.

There was enough humor in it to keep the air from going too tight, but the honesty sat underneath it cleanly. He could not have ignored it. Not when she was this close. Not when he was already operating on a very limited supply of self-control.

He should’ve grabbed a napkin.

He knew that.

Instead, because apparently tonight had become a long series of bad decisions he was enjoying immensely, he tipped his head and kissed the corner of her mouth where the smudge had been.

Just once. Warm. Soft. Brief enough to keep it from becoming a scene.

But not so brief that she could mistake what it was.

When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for a second that the smile in his face looked less like amusement and more like he was still slightly undone by her.

“You’re making it real hard to act like I’ve got any sense in public,” he said quietly.

That got the flirt back in where he wanted it—low and easy—but it didn’t blur the truth of it. She had him. Fully. More every minute. And Cameron was done pretending that didn’t feel as good as it did.

He took another sip of his drink, more for something to do than because he needed it, then set the glass down and looked at the desserts between them like he was trying very hard to recover some version of dignity.

“Okay,” he said. “Official update.”

He nodded once toward the torte.

“You were right. That one’s dangerous.”

A beat.

“The butter cake’s still got a strong case, though. I’m not demoting it just because the chocolate came in hot late.”

His brows lifted faintly, and the line came out with enough false seriousness to make it breathe again.

“Would be unfair to the field.”

He picked up the fork and cut another small piece of the torte, but instead of taking it himself, he turned toward her a little more in the booth and held it out.

“Try it again,” he said. “I need to confirm whether you’re right twice or if I’m just impressionable when you kiss me first.”

The grin that followed made it clear he already knew the answer.

Still, he held the fork steady between them, watching her with that same impossible mix of ease and attention that seemed to come naturally to him now whenever she gave him anything real.

And when she took it, Cameron’s gaze stayed on her face the way it had before—not because he was trying to trap the moment, but because he genuinely liked seeing exactly what pleasure looked like when it crossed her features before she bothered to hide it.

That part got him every time too.

“Yeah,” he said softly after a second. “No, that’s really good.”

He set the fork down and shifted a little closer still, not enough to crowd her, just enough that his knee pressed more solidly against hers under the table and the line of his shoulder stayed warm against hers when he settled back.

The whole booth felt smaller now. More private. Like the restaurant had faded into background and left them with their own little pocket of night.

Cameron turned his head slightly toward her, his voice dropping into something quieter, more intimate without losing the smile entirely.

“You know what I like about tonight?” he asked.

He didn’t wait long enough for her to answer.

“The fact that nothing about it feels like work.”

That came out simple. True.

“No weird performance. No trying to guess the right thing to say every five seconds.” His mouth curved a little. “No strategic pretending I’m not very into sitting here with you while you feed me dessert and keep kissing me like you’ve already decided I’m worth the trouble.”

There it was again—that blend of confidence and honesty she seemed to keep pulling out of him now. He wasn’t overselling it. He was just saying it exactly the way it felt.

He glanced down at the plate, then back up at her.

“And for the record,” he added, “if this is what happens when you get me closer, I’m not seeing a downside yet.”

That line he let warm the space between them for half a beat before easing the pressure off it with a softer grin.

“Maybe to my concentration. But I think I can live with that.”

He rested an elbow lightly against the edge of the table and tipped his head, studying her in that open, unhurried way of his.

“What’s your actual ranking now?” he asked. “Desserts, not me. Be careful.”

A tiny pause.

“I’m feeling fragile.”

The smile he gave her after that ruined any chance of the line sounding serious.

He knew exactly how gone he already looked. He just didn’t seem all that interested in hiding it anymore.

And as the candlelight moved low between them, catching the edge of her glass and the softened line of her mouth, Cameron found himself thinking that he could stay like this a long time—close in the booth, shoulder to shoulder, sharing bites, saying too much and not enough all at once.

Not because he was trying to make the night into something bigger than it was.

Because it already was.

Lucy’s lips curved the second he said trouble, like she’d been expecting that exact answer and was a little too pleased about it.

“Good,” she murmured, softer, almost to herself.

She didn’t pull away when he reached for her—didn’t even flinch when his thumb brushed her lip. If anything, her head tilted just slightly into the touch without thinking about it, her eyes staying on his like she was letting herself feel it all the way through instead of skipping past it.

“That would’ve been distracting,” she added, voice low, a quiet tease tucked into it.

When he kissed the corner of her mouth, her breath hitched—quick, small, gone almost as fast as it came—but it lingered in the way her fingers curled lightly against the edge of the seat.

She didn’t say anything right away.

Just looked at him.

Really looked.

Then the corner of her mouth lifted again, softer this time.

“You’re not doing a great job pretending you have any sense,” she said quietly, not unkindly. Not even teasing, really. Just… noticing.

When he offered her another bite, she leaned in without hesitation, her shoulder pressing into his a little more as she took it.

She chewed, thoughtful, eyes drifting down to the plate for a second before flicking back up.

“Still first,” she decided, simple and sure. “It knows what it’s doing.”

Her hand moved without much thought, brushing lightly against his wrist as she set the fork down again—fingers lingering for half a second before pulling back.

When he talked about tonight, about it being easy, she felt that settle somewhere deeper.

Her expression shifted—not heavy, just quieter.

“I didn’t realize how tired I was of… trying to get it right all the time,” she admitted, almost under her breath.

Her thumb traced a faint circle in the condensation near her glass, then stopped.

“This is better.”

A small pause.

“You’re better.”

That slipped out before she could second-guess it, and instead of taking it back, she just let it sit there.

Then his question pulled a soft breath of a laugh out of her.

“Okay,” she said, glancing back down at the desserts like she was genuinely considering it. “Torte’s still winning. Butter cake’s… dangerous in a different way.”

Her head tipped slightly toward him.

“Brûlée’s reliable. Which is nice, but—” she shrugged lightly “—not what I’m in the mood for tonight.”

That last part came quieter, more layered than it sounded.

She shifted then—subtle, but intentional.

Her leg crossed over the other beneath the table, her body angling more into his, shoulder settling fully against his now. Not brushing. Not accidental.

There.

Her gaze moved back to his, holding for a second longer than it needed to.

Something in it steadier now.

Decided.

Her voice dropped, barely above a breath.

“I’m gonna kiss you again.”

And then she did.

No hesitation.

Her hand found his arm again, fingers curling slightly as she leaned in, closing the space between them like she already knew exactly how this felt and wanted it anyway.

The kiss was slower this time. More certain. Not searching—just there, warm and deliberate and a little deeper than before.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far.

Still close enough that her breath brushed his, her eyes lingering on his like she was letting the moment land fully before moving on.

A faint smile touched her mouth.

Then she leaned in again, closer to his ear this time, voice quieter—steady in a different way now.

“We should probably get the check.”