Chapter 13 Raven #2
Dinner and a movie. Just us. Check yes or no.
My mouth curled into a smile as my eyes lifted to his, and I said, “Yes. Yes, of course yes. When?”
He smiled. “No better time than tonight. What do you say?”
It took me exactly twenty minutes to get dressed in a Dior knee-length black dress with a white belt and white shoes. I met Aiden in the foyer. He had changed into a casual suit, no tie, looking very much like a man who’d captivate women’s eyes.
An unreasonable feeling—jealousy—slithered through me, but I firmly shut it down. All these conflicting feelings would be the death of me. I couldn’t want him one minute and Paris the next. It was the behavior of an immature teenager.
“Black dress, huh?” he teased as we stepped into the elevator. “Preparing for a funeral?”
I grinned. “Not at all. This is a classic. Besides…” I brushed my hands over the belt. “White is present, so you’re safe.”
“You look beautiful.” His voice dropped, stirring something inside me that thrilled and terrified me all at once.
“Thank you,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You look… hot too.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Hot, huh?”
“So hot,” I confirmed, watching the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement.
We made our way down to the garage where he opened the door to his Benz for me. He drove in silence, but it was the comfortable kind.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I stared in shock. “We’re eating here?”
The “Velour & Vine” restaurant was high-end and evoked luxury and sophistication. I’d only glimpsed inside, but everyone in the city knew that getting in required a reservation a year in advance.
“Yes.”
“Aiden, I don’t think we can just walk in.”
“Sure we can.” He jumped out of the car and my door opened when I heard Aiden’s voice instruct, “I’ll help my wife.”
“Of course, sir.” The door swung wider and Aiden extended his hand. I slid my hand into his and stood up. “Your usual table is ready, Mr. Callahan.”
“Thank you.”
The warm amber glow from lantern-style lights spilled onto the cobblestone path outside.
“You come here often?” I asked my husband curiously.
“You could say that,” he responded. “I own it.”
My mouth dropped, but there was no time to question him further before we entered.
The scent of roasted garlic, caramelized onions, and fresh herbs wrapped around us.
The interior was a mix of polished dark wood, exposed brick, and soft velvet chairs that invited you to linger.
Candles flickered on every table, their reflections rippling across glassware and the smooth surface of the wooden bar.
Soft jazz played in the background, just loud enough to fill the space but not overpower conversation.
Aiden held the chair for me like a gentleman, and I found myself admiring the quiet confidence about him. He scanned the room, almost as if he wanted to ensure there’d be no danger coming our way, before letting his gaze rest on me.
“I hope you like it,” he said, voice softer than I’d ever heard.
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this place.”
A gentleman approached us. “Aiden, I need to discuss business—”
“Not tonight, Deputy. I’m on a date with my wife.”
The man’s surprised look shot my way before he disappeared.
I smiled sheepishly at Aiden. “You didn’t have to dismiss him. I know your line of work keeps you busy.”
“It does.” A half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he took his seat opposite of me. “But tonight is just for us.”
Our table was tucked away just enough to feel private but still part of the soft hum of the restaurant. Linen napkins, polished cutlery, and small flickering candles set the stage. The smell of fresh-baked bread from the kitchen mingled with the faint spice of rosemary from a nearby herb display.
“I like that.”
A waiter filled our glasses, and once he disappeared, Aiden said, “I know it’s silly, but it’s not alcohol. Sparkling cider for both of us.”
“Oh.” My eyes flicked to the glasses, then back to him. “Why?”
“Well, you’re under twenty-one and…” He trailed off, shrugging, and I realized he worried that I was averse to alcohol because of my mom. Shit, he was way too thoughtful and I was falling for it so effortlessly. In fact, I didn’t even think I was fighting it.
“You don’t have to resort to non-alcoholic drinks on my behalf,” I said simply.
He shrugged. “I know, but I want to. At least until you’re of legal age to drink yourself.”
I scoffed. “I’ve had alcohol before.”
He didn’t comment on it, instead leaning back into his seat slightly before saying, “So, what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done?”
I laughed, caught off guard by the casualness of the question. “Ridiculous? Hmm… Not sure where to start.”
He chuckled. “That many ridiculous things?”
I nodded. “You’re forgetting I lived in a boarding school for a good portion of my life. It’s where ridiculousness thrives.”
“I sense many stories there. Tell me one, then.”
I thought for a moment, then remembered. “Probably trying to ride a horse without even knowing how to steer it. I ended up in a bush. It was the first and last time I attempted horseback riding.”
Another chuckle, low and warm, sounded between us, sending a shiver down my spine. “I would have paid to see that.”
“What about you?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. “Ever done something your pride regretted?”
He paused, the amber candlelight catching the angles of his face. “When I was sixteen, I tried to impress a girl by cooking dinner… and nearly burned my mother’s kitchen down.”
I laughed so hard I almost spilled my water. “You? Burn down a kitchen?”
“Yes,” he said, pretending to glare. “And it was humiliating.”
“So we have something in common,” I said, smiling. “We have both caused havoc in a kitchen somewhere along the way, although you seem to have learned to cook while I’m still… struggling.”
His gaze softened. “I can teach you.”
My heart fluttered in a way I hadn’t expected, but before I could commit to his cooking lessons, the waiter arrived with our dishes—seared salmon for him, roasted vegetable risotto for me.
Steam curled from the plates, carrying the scent of thyme and garlic, making my mouth water.
He offered me a bite of his salmon, and when our fingers brushed across the plate, a spark of warmth shot up my arm.
He didn’t pull away, only let our hands linger for a fraction longer than necessary, and my stomach did a little flip.
As we ate, our conversation flowed with surprising ease. He laughed, his eyes crinkling, and I realized I hadn’t noticed that softness before. I found myself leaning closer without meaning to, drawn by it.
By the time dessert arrived—a shared chocolate tart with a drizzle of raspberry sauce—he gently fed me a bite. His thumb brushed my hand again, and I couldn’t stop the little shiver that traveled through me.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” he whispered, and I blinked in surprise.
“You… I do?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes holding mine, and I felt a warmth settle deep in my chest with tender and unfamiliar feelings.
It was quiet, intimate, the kind of moment that made the world shrink until it was just the two of us—the flicker of candlelight, the soft jazz, the subtle brush of our hands, the rise and fall of our laughter.
He reached across the table, gently resting his hand over mine, and it never occurred to me—nor did I want it to—to pull away. Instead, I leaned a little closer to him, like he was my magnet.
It was evident that I was slowly but surely falling for him, but I didn’t care. It felt right.
The quiet hum of the engine filled the space between us as we headed for the movie theater, and somehow it felt… comforting.
The car smelled faintly of leather and the subtle cologne Aiden always wore. I could still feel the warmth from dinner lingering in my chest with a soft, persistent flutter I couldn’t ignore.
When we arrived at the theater, the neon lights outside cast a gentle glow over his face.
He bought the tickets as the smell of popcorn hit me and I stared at it like a child.
He chuckled, then proceeded to buy the biggest popcorn bowl along with drinks and junk food we both knew we couldn’t possibly get through.
The gesture was so ordinary, yet strangely perfect with him.
The theater was nearly empty. We found seats toward the back, the darkness wrapping around us like a private bubble.
He waited for me to settle, then gently placed his hand over mine, my fingers instinctively entwining with his as a small thrill shot up my arm.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, though I feared my heart would shatter if he pulled his hand away.
“I want to hold your hand,” he murmured, making my heart beat faster. “Is that okay?”
A heartbeat passed.
“Yes.”
It was more than okay, I thought, smiling and leaning further into his warmth.
The lights dimmed and the movie began, but I barely noticed the screen.
I was too aware of him—his hand on mine, the way his shoulder brushed mine when he shifted, the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the faint lingering aroma of dinner.
Every now and then, he’d squeeze my fingers gently as if checking that I was okay. Or maybe still with him. And I was. Every single fiber of me was here.
At one point, during a particularly tender scene, I murmured, “I think this is a part where we’re supposed to make out.”
Almost on cue, the couple in the front row started kissing, and we both laughed softly.
His hand slipped around me and I felt his warm breath brush my earlobe as he whispered, “The kind of making out I’d do… would get us kicked out of the theater.”
I felt heat rising to my cheeks, but I didn’t comment. Instead, I leaned farther into him.
By the time the credits rolled, my head rested against his shoulder. His steady warmth, the quiet steadiness of him, wrapped around me like a shield. I felt safe, more than I had ever felt, and it surprised me considering we’d both been somewhat forced into this marriage.
On the drive home, the city lights blurred past the window, but all I could focus on was the connection that had been building all evening.
“I had… a really nice time tonight,” I whispered, my voice almost drowned out by the hum of the engine.
“I did too,” he said, and there was a gentleness in his tone that made my heart flutter. “I want more nights like this. Just us. Just…” He trailed off, then smiled faintly. “Just us getting to know each other.”
I swallowed hard, the words sinking in, and I realized, with a slow, warming certainty, that I wanted that too.
I turned to look at him, and in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, he caught my gaze.
“I like you,” I whispered, and even as the words left my mouth, I felt them settle into something solid and undeniable.
“I like you too,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Then he reached over, brushing my hair back from my face with a careful tenderness, and I felt my chest tighten with happiness.
That night, I didn’t just leave dinner and a movie behind. I left a little piece of my caution at the door, along with my disbelief, and stepped into something real—a quiet, growing love I hadn’t expected but knew I wanted more than anything.