Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Black Apron Bistro was one of those places Chad had always deemed appropriate only for special occasions, and Landry had never understood why.
Yes, the prices were a tad steeper than at Chowtown, one of Chad’s favorite haunts, but there wasn’t a strict dress code. Though, she had to admit, it wasn’t the kind of place where you’d feel comfortable showing up immediately after pulling weeds in the garden.
That was part of what made her love it.
There was something timeless about the black-and-white-striped awnings over the windows, the painted white facade and—her favorite detail—the red door. A bold splash of color. A statement. A welcome. A promise.
Tonight, that door felt like a portal to something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.
Her palms were damp, so she wiped them against the fabric of her skirt, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she stood just outside the entrance.
This was it. No more wondering. No more guessing.
She let her gaze sweep over the patio tables, scanning the faces of those already seated. Couples clinked wineglasses, groups of three or four laughed easily, lost in conversation. But no man sat alone.
He must be inside.
Her pulse skipped.
Every step toward the host stand felt like crossing a threshold into something unknown. The moment she reached it, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair greeted her with a warm, professional smile.
“Welcome to the Black Apron Bistro. Would you prefer inside or patio seating?”
Landry swallowed, forcing her voice to sound steady. Normal. Casual.
“I’m meeting someone. We have a reservation for seven.”
His eyes flicked toward the screen in front of him. “The name?”
She exhaled. This was it.
“It should be under KS.”
There. Out in the open.
The host’s brows lifted slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Ah, yes. I believe Felix escorted the gentleman to your table just a moment ago.” He looked up and smiled. “A lovely table outside.”
Her stomach flipped. Outside.
Darn.
If she’d been just a few minutes earlier, she might have gotten a glimpse of him first. A chance to prepare herself.
A young, serious-looking waiter with dark-rimmed glasses appeared at her side.
“Felix,” the host greeted him warmly before turning back to Landry, “please take this lovely lady to table four outside.”
Landry nodded, barely hearing the words, “Enjoy your dinner,” before she followed Felix.
Each step felt heavy. Weighted. Irrevocable.
As soon as she stepped onto the patio, the golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm glow.
Her eyes locked on him immediately.
Blond hair catching the light. Broad shoulders. A presence that felt familiar.
Her breath hitched.
Felix stopped beside the table, which was near the railing and overlooked the water. He gestured smoothly with one hand. “Here you are.”
The man at the table turned.
The world tilted. Stopped.
Peter.
Landry’s breath fled her lungs.
Peter’s hazel eyes found hers, and in them, she saw the exact same realization crash into place.
Then…he smiled.
That slow, knowing, heart-stopping smile that made her knees go weak.
He stood.
“I’m glad it’s you.”
Landry gripped the back of the chair, needing something—anything—to hold on to.
She had spent so many nights wondering, writing, confiding in Kindred Spirit, feeling seen in a way she never had before.
And all this time…he was Peter.
Her Peter.
Her voice, when she finally found it, was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”
As far as Landry was concerned, this table was the perfect spot—close enough to admire the glow of the River Walk, the lamplights flickering off the rippling water, but with just enough distance from the passing crowds.
The raised planters, overflowing with fragrant flowers, offered a barrier, making the moment feel even more intimate. Just the two of them.
Just her and Kindred Spirit.
Or, rather, Peter.
Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d seen him sitting there. Every moment of anticipation, every letter, every secret confession on paper… It had all led to this.
Before she could say more, the waiter appeared, setting down two glasses of ice water before handing them menus. His voice barely registered with Landry as he recited the specials.
She forced herself to focus when he finally asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
She cleared her throat, trying to steady her voice. “The Cucumber Mint Cooler special sounds good to me.” She cast Peter a glance, as if testing the reality of this moment.
“I’ll try it, too.” His voice was smooth, calm, but the way he gripped his glass and took a deep sip of water told her he was feeling every bit of the nerves she was.
“Excellent.” The young man smiled, oblivious to the tension thickening between them. “I’ll give you time to look at the menus. Your drinks should be right out.”
As soon as the waiter left, Landry’s fingers tightened around the condensation-slick stem.
“I thought you might be Kindred Spirit.” Her voice came out softer than she’d intended, a confession and a realization all wrapped into one. She barely recognized her own breathless tone.
Peter’s lips curved as he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. Light flickered in his eyes—golden, intense, knowing.
“And I thought—hoped—you might be A Heart Unheard.”
The air between them pulsed. A thread of something unspoken, something real and vast and breathtaking, stretched between them, more powerful than words on a page.
Landry licked her lips. “What made you think it was a possibility?”
“Something you said at Joe’s party,” he admitted, his voice steady, but with a raw edge beneath it. “About Chad wanting you to shrink your dreams so that you would fit neatly into his world.”
The memory flashed through her. The moment she’d said it, it had felt so true, but now, knowing that Kindred Spirit had used those words in his letter to her, a shiver passed through her.
The waiter returned then, setting their drinks down before taking their orders. After he left, a charged silence stretched between them.
Landry finally lifted her glass, the cool mint-scented drink a contrast to the warmth gathering in her chest.
Peter watched her as she sipped. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More careful.
“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t agree to meet when you first suggested it.”
Landry swallowed. She nodded slowly, keeping her gaze on his, noticing the way he tensed slightly, as if bracing himself.
“I worried you might be a student. So much of what you described is similar to what many of my students face, to what I faced when pursuing my PhD. To mentor a student is one thing, but it would be completely inappropriate to be involved like…”
Landry blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of all the things she’d imagined he might say, that hadn’t even made the list. But it made perfect sense.
Her breath caught as she pictured his hesitation, his uncertainty, his careful deliberation.
“You may have suspected after the party that I was A Heart Unheard,” she said slowly, putting her glass down, “but you didn’t know for sure. Meeting me was still a risk.”
His gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“Let’s just say that my growing feelings for Landry Fisher were warring with my feelings for A Heart Unheard.”
Landry’s pulse jumped.
There it was.
Spoken aloud. Real. No longer just words on a page.
It was happening.
She forced herself to breathe, fighting against the rush of emotion pressing against her ribs.
“What about you?” Peter asked, his voice like a quiet storm, pulling her back to him. “What made you think I might be Kindred Spirit?”
She let out a soft, shaky laugh, running a hand absently over the tablecloth.
“Well, I saw my pink envelope in a cubby in your building…” She ticked off the reasons on her fingers, smiling slightly. “You mentioned family expectations. And, at the coffee shop, you once said we were kindred spirits.”
Peter exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “I really said that, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“So…” He leaned in slightly. “You half expected me to be the one you were meeting tonight.”
Landry swallowed. “I hoped.”
The words landed between them, heavier than she’d expected. But there was no taking them back.
“Because my growing feelings for Peter Elliott were warring with my feelings for Kindred Spirit.”
His smile was slow, deliberate, like a sunrise stretching across the sky. Then he reached across the table.
The moment his fingers closed around hers, she sucked in a breath.
He lifted her hand, turned it over and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
Landry was glad she was sitting—because her knees had just gone completely useless.
The world tilted, steadied, realigned.
“No more warring.” Peter’s voice was low, rich, promising. His eyes were molten gold, locked on hers. Sure. Steady. Unwavering.
Grinning, Landry shook her head, her heart pounding in her ears.
“I think you and I both,” she said, her voice soft, teasing, full of something electric, “can think of better uses for our time together.”
And she had no doubt they would.
After dinner, Peter and Landry walked in unspoken harmony, their fingers interlaced, the soft murmur of the River Walk wrapping around them like a cocoon. The world hummed with life, laughter drifting from nearby patios, music spilling out of doorways, but none of it seemed to touch them.
Not tonight.
Tonight, it was just them.
Landry’s hand was warm and sure in his, her touch a quiet anchor. Though many might consider this their first date, to Peter, it felt as if they had always been together.
Every letter, every whispered confession on the page, had already bound them in a way he had never experienced before. He knew her. Not just in the casual way two people got to know each other over shared meals and small talk.
He knew her heart. Her fears. Her dreams.