30. Cal
CAL
I t’s evening and the engine’s already running, low and steady. Around us, the evening air is setting in, making everything feel quieter. Softer. It’s almost six. Margot said she’d meet me out here by six.
I check my watch, not because I’m impatient, but because I’ve been looking forward to this all day.
I hear a soft throat-clear behind me. I turn, and there she is.
She’s standing there in a blue dress, the kind of blue that steals the last bit of sky before night. Her hair’s down, her eyes a little unsure but bright. She looks beautiful. Effortless.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi.” I take a breath, because geez. “You’re… wow.”
She blushes, looks down at her shoes for half a second, then lifts her chin like she’s forcing herself to accept the compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I open the door for her, and she climbs in. By the time I round the truck and slide into the driver’s seat, there’s already a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“You never told me where we’re going,” she says.
“I know.”
“Cal…”
I shoot her a quick look. “You trust me?”
She hesitates for only a beat. “I do.”
That shouldn’t hit me the way it does. But it does.
I pull out of the driveway and into the road, the sun dipping just enough to cast everything in gold. Tonight’s for her. And I’ve got it all planned.
Tonight, I want her relaxed. Not just a little. Fully. Mind, body, shoulders—not-a-single-worry relaxed.
So, I made sure she wouldn’t think twice about the inn. Thea and Hazel were easy to recruit. I barely finished explaining before they both smiled and told me, “Go. Have fun. We’ve got it covered.”
They even threw in a “Don’t mess it up” for good measure.
I’m taking her to Stars—Everfield’s most talked-about restaurant. It’s tucked into the hills with a view that makes people believe in forever. Perfect lighting, perfect music, and not too many people. The kind of place that whispers, “Slow down, you’re allowed to enjoy this.”
And after tonight, after I tell her everything—who I am, what I’ve built, the world I’ve left behind—I’m flying her out to see the world.
No fanfare. No pressure. Just me, giving her what she deserves.
Margot Hartwell isn’t the kind of woman you string along with crumbs. She’s full-course or nothing. The kind of woman who pours herself into everything she does, quietly, fiercely, beautifully.
She deserves softness. Warmth. Indulgence.
And tonight? She’s getting all of it.
Margot suddenly laughs. “I still don’t know how you got Thea and Hazel to agree.”
I laugh with her. “They were super easy to convince. They love you. And they want the best for you.”
She looks at me, her smile softening. “They do.”
We arrive at Stars just as the sun begins to dip behind the hills, the sky turning that soft watercolor gold. Margot gasps when she sees the building—sleek glass, gentle lights, the glow of something quietly luxurious.
Her hand touches her chest. “Oh my gosh. The food here is unbelievable. World standard.”
I nod, pleased. “There were so many reviews about it. Only the best… for the best.”
That makes her pause. And blush.
A real one—pink blooming across her cheeks, shy but sweet.
It’s beautiful. And I can’t look away.
Valet parking is out front, and as we pull up, one of the attendants steps forward. I shift into park and come around to open Margot’s door. She steps out, her blue dress catching the light in a way that steals my breath all over again.
I glance at her, smile, and ask softly, “Can I hold your hand?”
She looks at me—quiet, steady—and says, “Sure.”
I take her hand in mine, and it’s like they were always meant to fit this way. Her fingers are warm, soft, and certain. Something in my chest settles. And softens. And tightens all at once.
I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.
Not like this.
We walk into Stars together.
The interior is elegant but understated—warm lighting, soft jazz in the background, intimate seating spaced just enough for privacy.
There’s a tall wine wall behind the hostess stand and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the lake, which glitters in the fading sunlight.
The floors are polished wood, and everything smells like rosemary, citrus, and something slow-cooked.
Margot exhales beside me, just a soft little sound of awe. “Just as beautiful as I remember.”
I squeeze her hand gently. I already came in this morning to make the reservation—picked the best table they had and paid to make sure it was ours.
So when we walk in, I head straight to the nearest attendant, give them my name, and within seconds, we’re being led through the softly lit space toward the far side of the restaurant.
Our table is by the window. The lake stretches out in front of us, glassy and silver under the evening sky. The candles flicker gently on the table, catching the gold accents in the cutlery and the crystal glasses. It’s intimate. Quiet. Perfect.
Margot stops just short of the table, her hand still in mine. Her lips part slightly as she takes it all in.
“This is…” She turns to look at me, eyes shining, “Cal, this view is incredible.”
I pull out her chair and help her sit before taking my seat across from her. The way she’s smiling? I’d pay double. Triple. Whatever it takes.
Just to see that look on her face again.
We sit and settle in. The waiter brings water and menus, but I barely glance at mine before sliding it aside.
“You’ve been here before,” I say, leaning back a little. “Surprise me.”
Margot grins, fingers already dancing over the menu like it’s a game. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“I am.”
She bites her lip in thought and waves the waiter back over.
“We’ll start with the burrata and heirloom tomato salad.
Then… he’ll have the truffle butter filet mignon, medium rare.
And I’ll have the seared scallops with lemon risotto.
” She closes the menu. “A bottle of red, your recommendation, and water, please.”
The waiter nods and disappears.
I raise a brow. “Impressive.”
She shrugs, trying to look casual. “I don’t mess around with food. And if we’re doing this? You’re eating well.”
“As if I needed more reasons to fall.”
She blushes just a little, but recovers quickly, leaning forward on her elbows. Her voice softens, teasing, “So, Mr. Reid… our first date?”
My heart stutters. Not because of her words, but the name. Reid.
It still hangs between us like a curtain I haven’t pulled back. A soft reminder that she doesn’t really know me—not yet. Not fully.
But she will.
Tonight, I plan to shatter that curtain. Burn the lie. Lay everything bare.
I reach for her hand across the table.
“The beginning of many more,” I say quietly.
And I mean it.
Margot eyes me with a curious smile. “So,” she says, “if you weren’t in Everfield… if you weren’t doing whatever it is you actually do… what would you be doing right now? On a random Thursday evening?”
I chuckle. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“Why?”
“Because my answer might be boring.”
She leans forward. “Try me.”
I think for a second. “All right. If I weren’t here… I’d probably be in some soulless hotel room, two time zones away, answering emails I didn’t want to answer, wearing a suit that cost too much, wondering why everything I worked for still felt… empty.”
Her smile fades just a little. She hears the honesty behind it.
“And now?” she asks quietly.
I glance at her, at the curve of her mouth, the peace in her eyes. “Now I’m here. Waiting on scallops and steak. Sitting across from the only person who’s managed to make this entire town feel like home.”
She swallows. The silence between us warms.
“Okay,” she says, trying to hide another blush.
“Okay. My turn.” I reach for her hand again, unable to stay away. “What’s your ideal date?”
She laughs lightly. “I’m already on one.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to do it better next time. Do tell me, what’s your ideal date?”
She tilts her head, thinking. “Honestly? It’s never been about the location, or the food, or how expensive it is.”
I lift a brow. “No?”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean, sure, this place is incredible. But I’d feel the same way if we were at the park.”
Her voice is soft now. Real.
“For me, it’s the person,” she says. “It’s the feeling that I’m seen. That I can be myself. It’s quality over glamor. Deep conversation over performance. Quiet laughter over forced charm.”
I stare at her. My heart is no longer just soft—it’s wide open.
“That’s what makes a date perfect,” she finishes. “Who I’m with. Not what we’re doing.”
My thumb brushes over the back of her hand.
“I hope I’m living up to that.”
She smiles at me. And it’s warm. Honest. Full.
“You are.”
The server appears in the corner with our food and I can’t help but pray that this night ends with the same magic in the air now.
If anything, I know now that Margot is all I want, and I’ll do anything to make her feel safe and secure.
After the date is over, when we’re back at the inn, she will know the truth.
Guilt settles in my belly and no matter how hard I try, it lodges, refusing to leave. Margot’s words continue to play in my head like a broken record. She just said this is her ideal date, not because of anything else, but because of me.
Me!
She doesn’t even know who I am yet because I’m hiding the very core of my identity from her. It takes a great deal of willpower to think past my guilt and focus on the date, and an even greater strength to not worry that after tonight, this bubble will burst and I may lose her forever.