Chapter Eight
LYRIC
Chase really wanted to pick me up, but I managed to convince him to meet me at the restaurant.
Pulling up, my stomach is twisted in a tangled knot of nerves I can’t seem to untangle.
Which is ridiculous.
I’m a grown woman, confident, independent, not the type to unravel over dinner with a man. And yet my palms are slick when I pull open the restaurant door.
The hush of soft music washes over me first, angelic, romantic, the kind of sound that slips under your skin and slows your pulse whether you want it to or not.
I breathe it in, letting it cut through my panic.
Amber-hued light spills across the room, warm and golden, wrapping me up as if California itself decided to soothe me.
The space narrows at the entry, stonework climbing the walls in a texture that feels rugged and worn but somehow elegant too.
To my left, a bar stretches long and solid, the stone repeating in its frame like an echo.
To the right, sunlight filters through a wall of glass, where a weathered oak table runs the length of the window, flanked by barstools.
It looks like the kind of spot you could linger with a drink, watching the street go by, feeling tucked away yet still connected to the world outside.
Through the glass, the outdoor room glows with its own magic.
A tree rises at its center, branches heavy with fairy lights that drip down as if there are constellations tangled in its leaves.
The space feels alive, sheltered from the heat but open to the night, a secret garden carved into the middle of the city.
Every table inside is dressed in layered white linen, crisp but a little askew, like someone wanted order but gave in to charm instead. The rough stone on the walls, the soft glow, the mix of rustic and modern, it shouldn’t work, but it does.
Perfectly.
And I’m standing here, still nervous, but also enchanted. This isn’t just a restaurant, it’s the kind of place that could hold a thousand beginnings.
How did I not know this place existed?
A young waitress garners my attention as I approach the front-of-house podium. “Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to The Grove. How may I help you tonight?”
I can’t see anyone—not a single patron in fact. The place is empty, which has me a little concerned.
“Ahh… I’m meant to be meeting someone.”
She dips her head politely. “Oh, yes, you must be Lyric. Nice to meet you. I’m Sammy. If you have any issues tonight, please don’t hesitate to call. For now, though, please, follow me.”
Her formality makes me blink, my brows pulling tight. It feels more like I’m being ushered into some secret society than a restaurant, but I nod, deciding to roll with it.
Sammy glides ahead, her heels clicking softly, and I trail after her, nerves spiking with every step.
The air shifts as we pass into the back garden, and the world seems to open up into a private dreamscape.
Joy sparks through my nerves, because this place isn’t just beautiful—it’s enchanting, almost unreal.
And it’s empty.
No chatter, no clinking glasses, no strangers stealing pieces of the magic. The whole place is hushed and glowing, as if it has been set aside just for me.
Sammy leads me farther down the path, where the scent of woodsmoke curls warm and sweet. A log fire burns steady, flames painting the stone and glass in amber, and at its heart is a table set for two.
My breath stutters.
Because he’s there.
Chase.
He’s already seated.
But when his gaze lifts and collides with mine, my stomach free-falls like I’ve stepped straight off a cliff. The fairy lights, the fire, the whole breathtaking garden, it all fades, slipping into nothing.
There’s only him.
His eyes, that sharp muscari-blue, lock onto me with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs.
Goose bumps pebble across my skin despite the fire’s heat, every nerve in my body tuned to the quiet gravity of him watching me.
He doesn’t move, just waits, steady and sure, like he’s been sitting in this dream world all along, waiting for me to walk into it.
And as I take that first step toward him, it hits me—we really are the only two people in the world tonight.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
My heart beats heavily, just like it did the first time he looked at me. Chase has this way of making me feel something, even if I don’t know what that something is just yet.
We approach the table, and he stands. His hand reaches out to Sammy, giving her something. I don’t know what. I’m too busy staring at Chase while his face is alight with happiness. He walks around to position my chair for me like the gentleman he is.
But I pull it out, sitting down before he can. “It’s okay, the lady can manage on her own. Got it?”
His lips slowly pull to the side. “Got it.” He moves back to sit.
I exhale. Wow! That came out way more defensive than I was aiming for.
“I’ve been on my own for a while, Chase. I know how to take care of myself anytime the need arises.”
The most devilish of looks appear on his face.
I gasp. “Oh, crap! That sounded way dirtier than I meant it to.”
“It’s fine. You can talk dirty to me anytime you want.
” He leans over, picking up a bottle of champagne that’s sitting off the side of the table in a chiller.
Chase pours us both a glass, and I can’t help but notice the single red rose in a small vase in the middle of the table.
I let out a slight snicker, and he peeks up at me.
“By the way, Chase, I said I wanted flowers, not a flower.” I point to the sorry attempt in front of me and chuckle.
“You were serious?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Way to my heart is through flora.”
He finishes pouring the champagne. “Noted. Maybe it’s not your heart I want to get into?”
I open my eyes wide in shock as he bursts out laughing.
“Kidding… kinda.” He tilts his head, raises his glass to take a sip, and I can’t help but be envious of those bubbles hitting his lips.
“Geez, Hallmark, you’re showing your true colors tonight.”
“Then let me be clear, Lyri. You’re stunning. Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm, not just in his bed.”
Holy cow. “I’m nothing special. And how the heck would you know that already?”
“I just know. I’m Hallmark, after all. I have to live up to my name. Romance, swooning, the perfect lines, there all the Hallmark qualities, right?”
I scoff. “I think you’re trying to get into my panties. That’s what I think.”
“Think what you like, Lyri. I’m only trying to get to know you. What happens will happen. I’m certainly not heading into this expecting anything. I’m going with the flow. I’m leaving whatever happens up to our screenwriters,” he mocks.
Scowling at him playfully, I sigh. “Good to know you’re taking me seriously.” I pick up my champagne and take a sip.
I can’t read him.
I have no idea what he wants from me.
I need to figure him out a little more.
“Oh, Starlight, I am taking this very seriously. Just trying to meet you halfway with your banter, but maybe I’m not as good at it as you. I’ve been told I’m more dad-joke than debonair.”
I press my lips together, swallowing back the laugh threatening to bubble out. Better to steer us onto safer ground before I roast him any further. “So, what’s the deal? Food must be awful here for it to be this dead on a Tuesday night.” I lift my glass, letting the fizz tickle my tongue.
Chase leans in, his voice low and maddeningly calm. “I booked it out… just for us.”
The words detonate.
My brain stalls.
My body forgets how to function.
And suddenly, champagne is everywhere. Fizz tingles up my nose, down my throat, burning in my chest. I splutter and choke, and then as the bubbles overwhelm my senses, I launch into a full-blown spit-take.
The spray just misses Chase, but drenches the white tablecloth in sticky bubbles.
Panic detonates in my chest. Oh God, oh God, kill me now.
My cheeks flame as I grab for a napkin, my hands trembling as I try to blot at the mess before it spreads.
But my elbow clips the bottle, and time slows as it topples, the golden liquid glugging out in a slow-motion across the table like a goddamn waterfall.
“No, no, no!” My pulse spikes as I lunge for it.
In the scramble, I smack into my side plate, sending it clattering to the floor.
The fine porcelain shatters into pieces as cutlery skids in every direction, chiming off the stone, announcing my humiliation.
I duck after it, nearly cracking my skull on the table edge, my heart slamming so hard I hear the rapid pulse in my ears.
This isn’t happening.
Please tell me this isn’t happening.
Why am I like this?
“Shit! I’m so sorry!” My voice comes out higher than I mean, sharp with panic as I kneel beside the table, my knees cold on the stone while I blot furiously at the spilled champagne.
Napkins become soaked in my hands, champagne covers my fingers, and words spill faster than I can think.
“I swear I don’t usually… oh God, this isn’t… shit, I can fix—”
Suddenly, Sammy appears like an angel with cleaning equipment, calm and competent, while I flail and stammer apologies at her. My throat is tight, my chest hot, every nerve shrieking with embarrassment. And through it all, Chase doesn’t move.
Not once.
He just leans back, untouched, infuriatingly composed, one arm draped over the chair like a king surveying the chaos in his kingdom. Those bright blue eyes stay locked on me, steady, unbothered, the smirk on his lips cutting me deeper than the mess I’ve made.
The cocky bastard.
He looks like he owns the place.
Shit. Maybe he actually does.