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“That won’t matter,” I mutter, climbing out of my side, walking briskly to hers.

“What do you mean? Of course it will. This place looks fancy.”

Striding ahead, I open the door so her perfectly manicured fingers don’t have to.

“No one’s going to see you.”

“That’s not the point,” she grunts, frustration making her cheeks pink, just the way I like them.

“Just because I don’t know anyone here doesn’t mean I don’t want to respect the restaurant’s policies.”

“They have no policy today.”

I find our respective button on the elevator and settle with my back against the wall, watching as smoke slowly erupts from Fia’s ears.

“God, you’re insufferable. Just because rules don’t apply to fuckboys like you doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have to follow them.”

Her insult bounces through the eloquently decorated elevator. I wait for the doors to slowly shut for my temper to snap. With a force meant to startle, I pin Fia to the back wall. The mirrored reflection serves as a prop while her eyes flare at how I’ve got her secured within my grasp.

She can’t move—not that she’d want to.

“You’re right. I don’t follow rules, I make them. I said what you have on is fine, because I’m the only one who will see you in it tonight, and I happen to love seeing you in clothes I picked out.”

Fia’s breath catches as my grip on her hipbones tightens. The need to feel her on my skin heightens the higher we get to our destination.

“You’ve had a long day; I didn’t want you dressed up. I want you full and fulfilled.”

Tightening my grasp even more, I stop myself from leaving bruises on her soft ivory hips, but love the thought of my fingertips being a permanent mark on her skin.

She searches my face for ammunition, but my admission has rendered her speechless.

The final ding of the elevator breaks through our tension, and the slow opening of the doors forces us to separate.

“Come, let’s eat.”

One hostess and a manager wait at the front of the dimly lit restaurant the moment we step inside.

“Mr. Parker.”

The small gentleman reaches out his hand but slowly settles it back in front of him when he realizes mine are occupied, with one in my pocket and the other on the small of Fia’s back.

“Everything is just as you asked. You’re just through the back door, and the kitchen is open if you choose to use it.”

As we make our way through the restaurant, I’m practically pushing Fia along. Her sneaker-covered feet drag the longer we stride toward the terrace.

Being away from home had me missing time in the kitchen, and while I haven’t had much time outside of Fia, I knew I wanted to get back to cooking somehow, so I flew in Chef Jay and had him make all my favorite dishes.

Cooking for her feels more intimate than anything, makes me feel more vulnerable than I’ve felt…ever, but having her feast on my favorites is a start.

And I can’t prove it, but I know she doesn’t fuel her body the right way, so this date is a win for both of us.

Sitting facing each other, a waiter with a head full of grey hair and wrinkles around his kind eyes sets two plates between us.

“Mushrooms and sautéed cauliflower, sir.”

Nodding with a smile, I watch my date as he fills both of our glasses with water, letting the smell of some of my favorite starters take over the table.

“Guess I don’t get to order again. Why am I surprised...”