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For several blocks, neither of us speaks. The quiet is easy, but as Nate works through something on his phone, I notice the dark circles beneath his eyes. He's been carrying this exhaustion for weeks, and I've been pretending not to notice.
Well, I’m done with that now.
I snatch the phone from his hand, tuck it into my clutch, and give him my brattiest smile. Nate blinks once at his hand before turning to look at me. “Ms. Harper, do you believe you’re exempt from consequences?”
“Not at all, Mr. Blackwell, but I do believe my man invited me on a date. I just didn’t realize the first part of it would be spent looking at the side of his head while he answered emails.” I grin. “Is that the new romantic standard?”
The car slows for a red light, and Nate angles in, gaze sharp enough to slice right through me.
“You’re right.” He extends his palm, cocking two fingers.
As much sass as I have in me, I don't hesitate to crawl into this man’s lap at his silent command and let him kiss my non-transferable lipstick straight off my mouth.
His hand settles beneath my chin as his lips move over mine, citrus and mint still sharp on his tongue—a taste that gives my body explicit permission to forget how to be anything but soft and greedy for him.
"You've been working too much," I whisper once he breaks the kiss.
"Have I?"
"Mhm. You all have, but you more so than the others."
"I'm sorry, Sola." He sighs, intertwining his fingers with mine. “I thought Jace and Elias would make my absence less noticeable.”
“Nate, dating the three of you doesn’t mean that I don’t notice when one of you is missing." My voice loses its brittle edge. “Each of you is a different kind of warmth. I notice when one goes cold.”
The light changes, and the car moves forward. I watch the streetlights play across his face, highlighting the sharp angles and the exhaustion etched into his features.
"You're right." He blows out a slow breath. "I didn't think of it that way."
"How did you think of it?"
“I thought if I handled the pressure alone, the rest of you could continue as normal.” His voice stays even, but I catch the slight tremor beneath it. “I didn’t want you to worry. The launch timeline has been compressed, and there are complications.”
“Complications you've been handling alone?”
Nate doesn't deny it, and that tells me enough.
“That's stupid,” I tell him. “You have three people who care about you, but you're carrying everything alone because you've convinced yourself that's protecting us.”
“That's my instinct, Sola. When things start slipping, I contain the fallout.”
“We're not fallout.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You’re not, and to show you how sorry I am, I'm going to make it up to you tonight."
My eyebrow lifts. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a guarantee."
Once we arrive at our destination, I’m immediately taken aback by the restaurant. Lumière.
The name alone sends a jolt through my chest. I've read about this place in every luxury magazine Trey leaves scattered across our coffee table—the kind of restaurant where reservations open six months in advance and close within minutes.
Where the waitlist has its own waitlist.
The hostess steps away from the stand and heads toward the dining room. "Mr. Blackwell, if you'll follow me."
She leads us through the restaurant, past tables dressed in white linen and crystal that catches the candlelight every time someone moves. Conversations remain hushed, the kind of expensive quiet that makes me suddenly aware of every click of my heels against the floor.
