Tristan
As the CEO of Thorne Enterprises, I’ve met with powerful people, titans of the industry. I’ve had the future of a massive corporation in my hands, hundreds of thousands of jobs on the line.
But I’ve never been this nervous in my entire life.
For the fifth time, I redo my tie, adjusting it carefully in the mirror. It’s still not perfect, but I can’t seem to get it just right.
My stomach churns, and my palms are damp as I glance at my reflection.
The suit is bespoke, the tie is close to perfect, but my nerves are frayed.
I keep thinking about Chloe, about how she looked when I saw her at Ivy’s, the strain and sadness in her face, and the hint of longing that I saw there too.
I’ve missed her like crazy, and if she’s missed me even a fraction of that amount, maybe I can still fix things.
This date is my chance to make things right, to show her how much she means to me.
As I adjust the tie, my wedding ring catches in the mirror, a constant reminder of the vows we made. I know Chloe wasn’t ready to put hers on again when I gave it to her at the hospital, but I can’t bring myself to take mine off. This ring stands for everything I’m fighting for.
Our past. Our future. The promise I made to her.
I run my thumb over the smooth metal, drawing strength from it. Then I take a deep breath, straighten my suit one last time, and head out the door, my heart thudding against my ribs. After so long without seeing Chloe, it feels a bit like breathing again after weeks of being underwater.
After so much time apart, I just want to be close to her, to feel that connection we once had.
The thought of seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, maybe even holding her hand, is enough to make my pulse jump.
Tonight has to be perfect. Not because I need to impress her, but because she deserves nothing less.
The air is cool, and the evening sky is beginning to darken, a few stars already out overhead. My driver is waiting by the car, and as I approach, he opens the door for me. I wanted to pick Chloe up myself, but she insisted on meeting me at the restaurant.
As the car pulls away, I stare out the window, trying to settle the storm in my chest. The city lights blur as we drive through the streets, and I find myself wondering where Chloe is and what she’s thinking right now.
Is she as nervous as I am? Is she looking forward to this, or just going through the motions? The uncertainty makes my chest tight, but I push it aside.
The car glides to a stop in front of the Regency, its sleek exterior reflecting the evening lights.
The restaurant has a grand entrance, mahogany double doors flanked by trimmed hedges and an illuminated menu by the door set into a gilded frame.
There’s a line of people snaking out through the front door, but I brush past them without pausing.
As I enter, the smell of freshly baked bread and savory food fills the air. The hostess greets me with a polite smile, and after a brief exchange, she leads me through the tables, each set with crisp white linens and small floral centerpieces.
We reach the table I reserved, a secluded spot near a window with a view of the city lights against the darkening sky. It’s perfect, offering just the right amount of privacy without feeling too isolated.
I don’t want Chloe to feel cornered on our date, but I do want both of us to be fully present, focused on only each other.
“Does everything look alright, Mr. Thorne?” the hostess asks.
I nod. “Yes, thank you.”
“Would you like something to drink before your date arrives?”
I’m about to decline, but then the thought of having something to ease my nerves makes me reconsider.
I reach for the wine list, flipping through its pages with a practiced hand.
As I scan the options, I settle on a choice that seems both fitting and indulgent.
“Actually, if you could bring a bottle of the Chateau Margaux, that would be great.”
She flashes a smile. It’s a ludicrously expensive bottle, so of course she’s pleased. “Excellent choice, Mr. Thorne. I’ll have it brought over right away.”
As she leaves, I lean back in my chair, trying to settle my nerves. The Chateau Margaux isn’t just any wine. It’s the kind of bottle you uncork only for the most special of occasions. Tonight is special. Chloe is special.
Most importantly, though, it’s a merlot. Chloe’s favorite.
The moments stretch out as I wait, the anticipation building. My fingers drum lightly against the table, the soft hum of the restaurant around me a contrast to the tension in my chest. I glance at the empty seat across from me, picturing Chloe sitting there, her face lit by the candlelight.
The waiter returns with the bottle, presenting it with an air of ceremony.
He uncorks it with a practiced twist and pours a small amount into my glass.
I take a sip, although I barely register the taste, and nod in approval.
He fills my glass, leaves the bottle on the table, and steps away with a nod.
I take a longer sip now. It’s a superb choice, decadent and sophisticated and perfectly in tune with the occasion.
Now all that’s left is for Chloe to walk through that door.
A few minutes later, I see her step through the entrance, and for a moment, everything else goes quiet. Chloe. She’s so beautiful it takes my breath away.
She’s wearing a black dress with small gold detailing that drapes her figure with effortless elegance, hugging her in all the right places. Her hair falls in soft waves, framing her face. Her gray eyes, lined with a subtle winged eyeliner, hold mine.
I stand up quickly as she approaches, smoothing my suit. My pulse is racing, but I keep my expression calm.
“Chloe,” I say when she reaches the table, my voice low.
She gives me a small smile, and I move to pull out her chair. As she sits down, I push the chair in carefully, making sure she’s comfortable before taking my seat across from her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say, trying to mask my nerves with a touch of nonchalance, “but I took the liberty of ordering a bottle for us. If you’d prefer something else…”
Chloe picks up the bottle, turning it in her hands to read the label. One eyebrow arches in playful curiosity. “Chateau Margaux, huh?”
“I thought a merlot might be fitting for this evening.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up into a near-smile. “Did you, now?”
I reach for the bottle, and she lets me take it. I fill her glass.
“This is supposed to be a first date,” she says, still smiling. I take that as a good sign. “Don’t you think it’s cheating if you order my favorite wine on a first date?”
“Cheating? How would it be cheating?”
“If you didn’t already know me, how would you know I like merlot?” She lifts her glass to take a sip.
It’s a light-hearted opener to our conversation, and I know it’s an invitation to join in the banter. But I can’t. After everything that’s happened between us, I don’t have the luxury. Not yet.
“I can’t go back to a time when I didn’t know these things about you,” I say, my tone serious. “When I didn’t have every detail of your features burned into my mind. When I wasn’t constantly thinking about you.”
Chloe catches her breath. She sets her glass down on the table, her fingers stiff. “Tristan,” she murmurs, the sound so low it’s almost lost beneath the quiet conversations and clinking of silverware.
I lean forward. “I know. I promise, I know. You’re not ready yet. But I can’t hold back or hide how I’m feeling. I won’t.”
She seems uncertain, her gaze darting between me and the tablecloth. Her teeth are worrying at her lower lip, like they always do when she’s nervous. It only strengthens my resolve.
“I want you to know,” I tell her. “Every day for the rest of your life, I want you to know how I feel about you.”
Before she can respond, the waiter returns. We both turn our attention to him. “Would you like to get started with appetizers, or any additional drinks?”
“Some hors d’oeuvres would be a good idea.” I glance over at Chloe. “What do you think?”
She nods faintly, her gaze still a bit unfocused from my earlier declaration. Her eyes dart down to the menu, her fingers tracing the edge as if trying to ground herself in the decision.
“I think that sounds nice,” she replies. “Maybe the olive tapenade and the stuffed mushrooms?”
“Excellent choice, madam.” He scribbles down the order, then vanishes once more into the kitchen.
Once he leaves, silence descends on our table for a few moments. The unspoken weight between us is suffocating. I can tell she feels the same way. Weeks of swallowed conversations, words we never had the chance to exchange, simmering away just beneath the surface.
I take a deep breath, determined to ease the tension. “So, what movies has Ivy been feeding you?”
The question seems to catch her off guard. “Feeding me?”
“Sure.” I lift my glass, giving the merlot a swirl. “I’ve known more than a few cinephiles in my day. I’m well aware that you need a steady diet of movies, or you start to go insane.”
She laughs. A bright, real laugh. It’s been far too long since I last heard that sound, and it immediately seems to bring light to the room.
And there are those dimples. I’ve been waiting to see those.
“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong,” she says. “I need movies to survive. Unfortunately, I’ve been living on the film equivalent of McDonald’s since I left the hospital.”
“What, junk movies?”
She makes a face, an exaggerated grimace. “Yeah. Ivy doesn’t exactly have an artist’s mindset toward cinema.”
I think for a moment, trying to remember the movie marathons of our shared childhood. “If memory serves, she’s into romcoms.”
“Romcoms,” Chloe agrees, nodding. “Terrible ones. Adam Sandler. It’s been torture.”
I grin, picturing Ivy forcing Chloe to sit through 50 First Dates. “That sounds about right.”