ONE OF THEfirst thingsI learned about dating Nathan Edge was that he doesn’t do casual. Not in business and definitely not when it came to dinner dates.
LA stretched below us, twinkling with a thousand golden lights. From our spot on the rooftop, it looked almost magical, like we were floating above the world instead of sitting at a small, candlelit table for two amongst other couples. The warm glow of string lights overhead cast a soft halo around Nathan’s sharp features, making him seem less like the intimidating CEO and more like the man who, just this morning, had stolen a bite out of chocolate muffin when he thought I wasn't looking.
“This feels like a setup,” I mused, swirling the white wine in my glass.
Nathan lifted a brow, lips twitching. “A setup?”
I gestured around. “The romantic rooftop. The exclusive restaurant. The fact that I haven’t had to lift a single fingerexcept to drink this very expensive wine. You’re either buttering me up for something or you’re trying to seduce me.”
His smirk deepened. “What if it’s both?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Dangerous game, Nathan.”
Nathan leaned back in his chair, completely at ease, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “If I wanted to seduce you, Cupcake, you’d know.”
Heat licked up my spine, but I ignored it, lifting my glass instead. “Then I guess I should just enjoy the view and the food.”
Nathan sat up straight in his chair, his sharp blue eyes locked onto me like I was the most interesting thing in the world. His hand rested comfortably on top of my hand that sat on top of the table.
“You never told me how you got into dancing,” he said, tilting his head slightly.
I smiled, swirling the ice in my drink. “I guess I haven’t.”
“So tell me,” he pressed, his curiosity evident. “Was it something you always knew you wanted to do?”
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Not even close.”
His brow lifted, intrigued.
“I didn’t grow up in a house that played a lot of music. My mom was always busy running the household, making sure everything was perfect, and my dad worked late, so our house was mostly quiet. My brother was into more structured things like JROTC. But me?” I smirked. “I wanted noise. Movement. Energy.”
Nathan’s lips curled in amusement. “Why am I not surprised?”
I playfully nudged his leg under the table before continuing.
“When I was about nine, my cousin, who was Freshman in high school at the time, had a birthday party in their backyard. The moment we walked in, I heard ‘Lose Control’ by Missy Elliott.” I grinned at the memory. “I had never heard anythinglike it before. The beat, the energy, the way it made people just move.”
Nathan was fully engaged now, his eyes twinkling with interest. “So what did you do?”
“I danced,” I said simply. “Or, at least, I tried to. I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt the music in my bones. I didn’t care if I looked ridiculous. I just wanted to move. Next thing I knew, a little circle had formed around me, and people were cheering me on. I did every little move I had ever seen on TV. Some of them were probably terrible, but the crowd went wild.”
Nathan shook his head, clearly impressed. “At nine years old?”
“At nine years old,” I confirmed with a grin. “After that, I begged my mom to let me take dance classes.” I let out a soft breath, shaking my head. “That didn’t go over well.” My fingers traced absent patterns against the table as I spoke. “My parents came to Florida from Haiti with nothing. They worked too hard, sacrificed too much, for me to turn around and say I wanted to dance.” I glanced up at him. “To them, that wasn’t a dream. It was a waste of time. Something that wouldn’t pay bills or build a future.” My lips pressed together briefly before I continued. “They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer. Something stable. Something that made sense. They told me I was being silly.” I paused, momentarily taken back to the year I told my parents I wanted to be a dancer and how it felt when they didn't support that dream like I thought they would. “So I didn't talk about it anymore.” I shrugged lightly. “But I didn’t stop dancing.” A hint of a smile returned. “I taught myself. Watching videos, copying choreography, practicing in my room when no one was home or when they thought I was doing homework. I kept going. Quietly.”
Nathan was quiet for a moment before he laced our fingers together. “Your parents might not have seen it,” he said quietly, “but I do.” he murmured.
I felt my heart flutter at the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said, giving my hand a small squeeze. “I see it every time you dance, how free you look, how happy. It’s my second favorite thing to watch you do.”
Warmth spread through my chest, my cheeks heating slightly. Nathan wasn’t always the best with words when it came to emotions, but when he did say something meaningful, it always hit me right in the heart.
I tilted my head at him when his previous words finally registered. “Wait. What’s the first thing?”
“Watching you let go for me.” His eyes heated just enough to shift the air around us.
Check please.
