Chapter 16
MEGHAN
T he door shut behind us with a muted click, sealing out the city and locking in something much quieter, much hotter.
I let go of Caleb’s hand and stepped ahead of him, my feet whispering across the polished wood floors of the restaurant.
The ambient light still glowed faintly over the bar from where I’d left it earlier, casting golden reflections on the countertops.
The air inside Promenade always smelled faintly of citrus and rendered fat—tonight, it carried something else, too.
Anticipation.
I set the empty bakery bag on the counter and turned toward him, already planning to lead him up the stairs to my living space. My fingers itched to touch him again, to see if the fire we’d sparked would reignite.
But before I could speak, before I could even breathe him in again, something on the hostess stand caught my eye.
A piece of paper.
Cream-colored. Folded. Placed precisely where it hadn’t been earlier.
I stilled.
It wasn’t a receipt or a note from a server. It was the same kind of heavy-stock paper as the one from a few days ago, the one I’d brushed off.
I crossed the room slowly, every step suddenly weighted. My fingers hesitated before picking it up, the faintest tremble skating down my body.
Unfolding it felt like unsealing a curse.
No reservation necessary. I already have a table.
My throat went tight.
Behind me, Caleb’s footsteps were quiet but quick. He’d seen my body change, the way I held the note like it was made of glass and venom.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and already edged with warning.
I handed it to him without a word.
He read it once. Then again. His jaw flexed. “Have you gotten something like this before?”
I hesitated. The air felt tighter. Thicker.
“There was another one,” I said finally. “The day you came in, actually.”
His gaze sharpened. “What did it say?”
“‘I’m coming to dinner.’ Same paper. Same neat handwriting.”
He stared at me like I’d just told him I’d been sleeping with a knife under my pillow and calling it security.
“And you didn’t tell anyone?”
I hesitated. “I told Finn,” I said quietly. “He thought it was strange, too, but we both figured it was just some critic trying to be clever. It didn’t feel threatening at the time.”
The truth itched at me, the part I hadn’t said out loud.
That a piece of me had wondered if it was Caleb himself.
He’d shown up out of nowhere, larger than life, with eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
It wasn’t impossible to imagine him slipping into my world before we really knew each other, watching, assessing, leaving a cryptic little message.
And if not him, maybe someone else powerful enough to matter—a key critic, someone with reach.
Either way, I’d wanted it to be positive.
Caleb’s expression didn’t budge. “But it feels threatening now.”
I met his gaze, pulse thudding. “Yeah. Maybe so.”
He shook his head once, firm. “It wasn’t me.”
The certainty in his tone cut through me, solid and unshakable. Whatever else Caleb Dane was, he wasn’t the one who had left that note. Him being here with me now—open, present—put the suspicion to rest. And somehow, knowing it hadn’t been him left me both relieved and unsettled all over again.
“It was left where?”
“Right there.” I pointed to the hostess stand. “It wasn’t here earlier. I’ve been in and out of this space all night. I would’ve seen it.”
His eyes darkened as he scanned the entry, then the restaurant beyond it. “Doors locked?”
“Yes. But the staff just left twenty minutes ago. It could’ve been anyone. One of them, maybe.” I heard the denial in my voice, how fast I was trying to explain it away. But it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.
Caleb moved past me, checking the latch on the front door, the windows, the side exit by the kitchen. Every motion was deliberate, methodical.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered.
“I don’t either.”
“Someone got close enough to leave this while you were here. That’s not casual. That’s professional.”
I swallowed. “I thought I was imagining things when I felt watched. I brushed it off. But now …”
Caleb turned toward me, the muscles in his arms taut under his shirt, his stance shifting. “Do you have cameras?”
I shook my head, hesitating. “The other night by the benches—near the seawall—I thought I saw someone. Actually, I’ve wondered if it was you. Like the note, I wanted to believe it was you. But I couldn’t be sure.”
His eyes softened, though his jaw worked tight.
“It wasn’t me by the benches. If I’d been that close to you, I wouldn’t have just stood in the shadows.
I would’ve walked right up and spoken to you.
” His hand brushed mine, deliberate, grounding.
“You’re too damn beautiful for me to pretend otherwise. ”
Heat climbed my neck, conflicting with the chill running my spine. “Did you ever see me … before you came to dinner?”
“I did.” He didn’t flinch. “From your upstairs window one night. I admit that. I couldn’t stay away. But out there, by the benches? That wasn’t me.”
The air between us thickened, a strange mix of relief and unease. Whoever had been watching me that night—it hadn’t been Caleb.
“Cameras?” he asked again, his tone serious.
“Only in the kitchen and back prep area. Nothing out front.”
“We’ll fix that tomorrow.”
“You sound like you’re moving in.”
“I’m making sure you’re safe. If someone’s targeting you?—”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” I said too quickly, but even as I spoke the words, I didn’t believe them.
Caleb stepped in closer, the note still clutched in his hand. “This wasn’t meant for the restaurant. It was meant for you.”
That truth sank into me with a cold, slick weight.
“I didn’t want to overreact,” I said, softer now, ashamed. “I’ve worked so hard to build Promenade. I can’t afford bad press or to seem paranoid. I thought?—”
“You thought wrong,” Caleb said sharply, then caught himself. His voice gentled. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
He moved again, silent and confident, disappearing into the shadows of the restaurant like he’d done it a hundred times, like the place was a terrain to be cleared.
I stood frozen, arms wrapped around myself, goosebumps chasing down my arms despite the warm air.
He returned a moment later. “No signs of forced entry. I’m just glad I showed up when I did.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be alone here?”
“I’m saying you’re not going to be.”
There was no flirtation now. No suggestive undertones. Caleb had slipped into another mode entirely.
Operator. Protector.
Whatever—or whoever—he was trained to be.
“You need to show me the first note,” he added.
I nodded, my throat tight. I walked toward the back stairs and led him up into the third-floor loft. It was warm up here—no restaurant chill, just the kind of cozy heat that clung to linen sheets and soft lighting.
I reached for the drawer beside my bed, pulling out the first note and handing it to him.
He read it, frown deepening. “Same paper. Same handwriting. Probably the same pen.”
“You know handwriting now?”
“I know a threat when I see one.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to.
He looked around my bedroom, eyes scanning the space like he was mentally reinforcing it.
Then his gaze landed on me.
“You said you felt watched. When?”
I shrugged helplessly. “Leaving the restaurant one night. I thought it was nothing. I’d had wine. Was wired from service. The street was empty but I had this feeling …”
I hesitated, then added, “Then another night, like I said, there was a man. Standing near the benches by the harbor. Just … watching. He didn’t move, didn’t come closer. But he was there.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened again. “It wasn’t nothing.”
I turned away, suddenly overwhelmed. “I don’t want this to derail my work, Caleb. I can’t start flinching every time a car drives by or someone walks in for dinner. I can’t live like that.”
He stepped closer, voice low and sure. “Then you don’t. You let me handle it.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
I turned back to face him. The heat between us hadn’t faded, but it had changed. It burned deeper now, more than just attraction. It was need. Safety. The thing I didn’t want to ask for but couldn’t deny.
“I don’t usually let people in.”
“I’m not people.”
Something in me snapped loose.
I walked straight to him, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss that was more declaration than invitation.
He responded instantly, his mouth claiming mine, his hands cupping my face, grounding me, igniting me. There was nothing gentle in it. Just heat and frustration and fear transmuted into something physical.
We stumbled backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
He paused, breathing hard. “You sure?”
“I need this.”
He didn’t hesitate again.
Clothes fell in pieces. Mouths met with a desperate hunger. Skin on skin, warm and grounding, the weight of him over me exactly what I needed to feel tethered to something real.
I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs as Caleb’s hands roamed my body.
The threat of the note lingered, but his touch chased it away, replacing it with a heat that pooled low in my belly. My long hair spilled over the pillow, and I caught a glimpse of us in the full-length mirror across the room—a gift from a friend, now a silent witness to this unraveling.
His broad, muscular frame hovered over me, his chiseled abs flexing as he moved, and I couldn’t look away from the raw power in his body.
“Watch us,” he murmured, his voice a rough command that sent a shiver through me.
He shifted, guiding my chin toward the mirror with a gentle but firm grip. My breath hitched as I saw myself—cheeks flushed, lips parted—beneath him, his hands sliding down to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they hardened under his touch.
The sight of his strong fingers against my pale skin, the contrast of his tanned, sculpted arms, made my core tighten with need.