Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zoe paused just outside the Pfister’s Mason Street Grill the following Friday, smoothing her hand down the front of her dress—black, elegant and simple.
A flutter of nerves danced in her stomach, but they weren’t the anxious kind.
They were the kind that said this—this man, this moment—meant something.
When she’d casually mentioned dinner after their unforgettable afternoon on Green Bay, she hadn’t expected John to plan an evening that included a reservation at one of Milwaukee’s finest restaurants and a night at the historic Pfister Hotel. But here they were.
She turned to him with a smile. “I hear the food is fabulous.”
John, striking in a navy sport coat and open-collar shirt, looked her over with slow appreciation. “You mentioned dinner. I’m just a man trying to deliver.”
Her smile deepened. When he offered his arm, she didn’t hesitate.
“Remind me to thank whoever donated this incredible package for the silent auction,” she said as they stepped into the restaurant.
The soft glow of pendant lights bathed the room in golden warmth, the gentle hum of a jazz trio curling through the air. They were welcomed by the ma?tre d’ and led to a table by the window, where candlelight flickered between them.
Zoe let herself relax into the evening. They started with a glass of wine—Pinot Noir for her, Cabernet for him—and playful banter over appetizers. John ordered the Maryland crab cakes, while she took a chance on bacon deviled eggs.
“Omigod,” Zoe murmured after one bite, already reaching for a second. “These are addictive.”
John grinned. “I’m suddenly regretting my choice.”
She slid an egg onto his plate. “Try it. Creamy, smoky, tangy…everything.”
He did. “You’re right. Amazing.”
They shared plates and stories, laughter mixing easily with the candlelight. Somewhere between bites of crab and sips of wine, Zoe realized she wasn’t performing. She wasn’t working to impress or trying to navigate landmines. She was just being…herself.
She caught him looking at her and lifted her glass with a teasing smile. “If you’re trying to win me over with ambience and a perfect Pinot Noir, it’s working.”
John leaned in, resting his forearms on the table. “I want you to enjoy every part of tonight.”
“I already am. The food, the atmosphere—it’s all wonderful.” She paused, her voice softening. “But honestly, we could be at Muddy Boots splitting a slice of pie, and I’d feel the same way. Being with you is what makes it special.”
His expression changed, something quiet and tender moving through it. “You deserve to be spoiled.”
She looked down, brushing her fingers over the rim of her glass. “I’ve never really let anyone do that before.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
Zoe swirled her wine. “You know what’s weird? I used to tell Erik everything…or thought I did. But with you…” Her voice trailed off, surprising even herself.
John leaned in, his expression open and unguarded. “With me?”
“With you, I don’t have to think about what I’m saying,” she admitted. “You’ve always been…steady.” She hesitated, feeling strangely exposed. “Like you’re just…on my side.”
John’s throat worked, but he only nodded, his hand brushing hers across the table. “Always.”
Their entrées arrived, and conversation shifted to lighter topics—the jazz music, the dessert menu and whether pistachio sponge cake could actually be good.
When the waiter cleared their plates, Zoe reached across the table and traced her fingers along John’s. “I’m really glad we’re here.”
He turned his hand to catch hers. “Me, too.”
She hesitated, then added, “It’s been such a full, sometimes heavy stretch lately. Between my dad’s injury and all the work on the expansion project, I admit I’ve sometimes felt overwhelmed.”
“You don’t always have to carry everything,” he said softly. “Not alone.”
“I’ve told myself for so long that I needed to.” She gave a small, almost self-deprecating shrug. “But then you show up and remind me what it’s like to work as a team, to feel valued and appreciated.”
His thumb moved gently across her knuckles. “You don’t have to earn being cared for, Zoe. You just have to let it in.”
Her throat tightened. He didn’t say things like that to impress her. He meant them. And it hit her, in that soft, quiet moment, how deeply she was starting to trust him, not just with her time or her heart, but with the parts of herself she usually kept hidden.
The jazz trio struck up a slow, romantic tune, and Zoe tilted her head. “Dance with me?”
“There’s no dance floor,” he said, amused.
“There’s a corner with space,” she countered, standing and holding out her hand.
He rose and took it, letting her lead him to that quiet corner.
He drew her close. She settled easily against him, head near his shoulder, one hand resting over his heart.
They swayed slowly in time with the music.
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.
In that corner of the Mason Street Grill, surrounded by flickering candlelight and soft jazz, Zoe knew this wasn’t just a perfect evening.
It was the beginning of something she hadn’t believed she’d find again.
Something that felt a lot like love.
The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open on the twelfth floor.
Zoe stepped out, her heels barely making a sound on the plush carpet, John just behind her.
Her hand was still in his, fingers loosely laced, and neither of them had spoken since they’d left the Blu lounge on the twenty-third floor.
Words didn’t seem necessary.
He unlocked the door to their room—a suite, elegantly understated with tall windows, soft lighting and a view that stretched out over the Milwaukee skyline.
Zoe crossed to the window first, her arms folded lightly across her waist as she looked at the twinkling lights. John set the room key on the table, then joined her without a word, slipping his arms around her from behind.
She leaned into him without hesitation.
“I loved tonight,” she said softly.
“Me, too.”
They stood that way for a long moment, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, her breathing steady and slow against his chest.
“I keep thinking about that moment earlier,” she murmured. “When you told me I don’t have to earn being cared for.”
He didn’t say anything, just gave her a little squeeze.
“I think some part of me always believed love had to be conditional,” she said. “That it came with expectations or strings or…performance.” She turned in his arms to face him. “But with you, it doesn’t feel that way.”
His expression was gentle as he tenderly brushed a strand of hair back from her face with one finger. “All I want you to be is yourself.”
She blinked fast, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t know where this is going,” she said honestly. “But I know it matters. You matter. More than I ever saw coming.”
“Maybe we don’t have to know where it’s going,” he said. “We just have to keep choosing it. One day at a time.”
Her heart tugged. It wasn’t a grand declaration. Maybe it didn’t need to be.
Because what he gave her—this steady, intentional love—was something she’d never had before. And now that she’d tasted it, she didn’t want to go back.
The next week, Zoe and John worked long hours during the day, making sure the plan they’d present to her father before his surgery was as complete as possible.
The nights, though, were theirs—sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with friends, each evening carving out a little more space for laughter, connection and the quiet awareness building between them.
Tonight, they’d had dinner at the Ding-A-Ling.
Zoe stepped out of the bar and onto the porch, the night air wrapping around her like a soft shawl.
The faint scent of fried fish clung stubbornly to her sweater, but she didn’t care.
Her cheeks still ached from laughing, and the pale ale she’d drunk had left a lingering warmth in her veins.
John’s hand found hers as though he didn’t even think about it as they headed down the steps.
“I think that karaoke trio hit every note except the right ones,” he murmured, his voice low and amused.
Zoe bumped her shoulder into his, smiling. “I think enthusiasm counts for at least seventy percent of the score.”
They’d nearly reached her car when a voice cut across the gravel parking lot.
“Zoe Goodhue?”
The name landed like a pebble skipping across water, rippling through memories she’d rather leave untouched.
She turned to see Felicity Rood, wrapped in a chic houndstooth coat, flanked by two other women Zoe vaguely recognized from high school.
Felicity hadn’t changed much—still impeccably dressed, still carrying that brittle, calculating smile that never quite reached her eyes.
“Felicity,” Zoe said evenly, slowing her steps as Felicity approached, her heels clicking like tiny hammers on the gravel.
“I thought that was you.” Felicity’s gaze slid from Zoe to John and back again, her smile stretching just a little too wide.
“I’m in town visiting my besties, and…well, I just heard about what happened.
” Her voice softened, faux sympathy dripping from every syllable.
“The broken engagement. I’m so sorry. You must’ve been devastated.
But I guess it makes sense you came back. It’s what everyone expected.”
The words sliced deeper than Zoe would have admitted, pulling at an old thread she’d thought she’d finally snipped clean. For a heartbeat, the doubt crept in again, whispering that she hadn’t been enough, that maybe Erik had been right about her.
But then John’s hand brushed lightly against the small of her back, quiet, grounding. She straightened her shoulders.
“You know,” Zoe said, her voice calm but steady, “it turned out to be the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”
Felicity blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Her gaze flicked toward John, then back to Zoe, taking in the quiet confidence in her stance, the warmth in his proximity.
“Well,” Felicity said after a beat, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp, “I’m glad you’re…surviving. Small towns, you know. People talk.”
Zoe leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then you’ll have fun sharing the latest headline. New storyline. Better cast. And a much better leading man.”
She tossed John a playful wink.
For once, Felicity faltered, her brittle smile tightening. “That’s…wonderful.” She turned as one of her friends tugged on her sleeve. “We should go.”
“Good seeing you,” Zoe said breezily, already turning away before Felicity could reply.
Zoe and John walked a few steps, the crunch of gravel filling the space between them. Her pulse still buzzed faintly under her skin, but it was steadier now.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” she said after a breath. “I just…forgot how it feels to be boiled down to one headline from your past.” She glanced at him, her lips quirking faintly. “Part of me hates that Erik still gets to live there, in other people’s stories.”
“You’ve moved forward,” John said simply, giving her hand a warm squeeze. “That’s what matters.”
Her throat tightened, and she nodded. After a beat, she smiled sideways at him. “Thanks for not jumping in back there.”
He grinned. “I knew you had it handled.” After a pause, he dopped his voice lower, teasing. “Besides, I was too busy enjoying my promotion.”
“Promotion?” she asked, arching a brow.
“‘Much better leading man,’” he said, mock serious. “Feels like a role worth leaning into.”
Her laugh slipped out softly, tension unraveling. “You liked that, huh?”
“Easily my favorite compliment to date.”
At the car, he opened her door, but Zoe didn’t get in right away. Instead, she tilted her face up to his, her voice quiet but certain.
“Careful,” she murmured. “Keep this up, and I might start casting you in all my future roles.”
John dipped his head, close enough for his breath to brush her cheek. “Only if I get top billing. And all the kissing scenes.”
Zoe grinned, her heart light. “I can’t imagine anyone else in the role.”