Chapter 19 #4
I glance at the clock on my computer screen, then around the nearly empty office. Joshua left an hour ago for a family dinner, Steven’s been gone since six-thirty to pick up his kids, and Flora practically sprinted out the door at five on the dot. We’re the only ones left in our section.
“Early for us, maybe,” I say, stretching my arms above my head until my back pops. “Normal people call this late.”
“Normal people don’t run marketing campaigns for luxury yacht companies,” Eve retorts, shuffling a stack of papers till they’re all aligned and slipping them into a file. “Normal people probably eat dinner before nine p.m., too.”
I watch her gather her things—the ritual I’ve become oddly fond of. First the laptop, then the files she’ll inevitably look at later even though she claims she won’t, then her jacket, then a final scan of her desk to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything important.
“You know what?” I say, the idea hitting me suddenly. “We should go to a restaurant.”
Eve pauses, her hand halfway to her jacket. “A restaurant?”
“Yeah. Like, an actual restaurant. With menus and waiters and food that doesn’t come in plastic containers. We’ve been eating at the apartment for two weeks. We work, eat, and sleep. Even Luis has stopped showing up because he thinks we’re the world’s most boring couple.”
“Caleb—”
“Come on, Eve.” I pull her chair closer till it hits mine. “I’ll pay. I even got you a gift.”
“A gift?” she asks slowly.
“Yeah.” I grin at her. “And it’s something you’ll actually like. But I’ll give it to you only if you go out to eat with me.”
Eve studies me, as if weighing the pros and cons. “Fine. I don’t want to go out, but I do like gifts.”
The seriousness with which she says it makes me smile. This is Eve, unabashedly honest. There are no games with her. She likes something, she’ll say it. If she doesn’t, she’ll make sure I know it.
“Where do you want to go, then?” I take out my phone, ready to look up some places when she interrupts me.
“Actually…” Her face lights up with genuine excitement.
“There’s this place I’ve been dying to try.
I’ve heard a lot about it but I never got the chance to go.
” The enthusiasm in her voice makes my pulse kick up for reasons that have nothing to do with caffeine.
It’s rare to see Eve get excited about anything that isn’t work-related, and the way her entire demeanor shifts when she talks about this place makes me want to see more of it.
“Lead the way,” I say.
We take the elevator down together, standing closer than we normally would in the office. The tension that usually crackles between us during work hours has shifted into something that feels like anticipation mixed with the particular intimacy that comes from spending too many late nights together.
“You know,” Eve says as we walk through the lobby, “this might be the first time we’ve left the building together when we weren’t completely exhausted.”
“Or when one of us wasn’t pissed off at the other,” I add.
“True.” She glances at me sideways. “Though the night is still young.”
The evening air hits us as we step outside, crisp and clean after hours of recycled office atmosphere. Eve pulls her jacket tighter around herself, and I throw my arm around her , pulling her into me. When she leans into me, I glance down at her, slightly surprised.
I hit the button on my key fob, and my car chirps to life in the parking garage. Eve’s gotten into the habit of not driving to work anymore; it just makes sense when we’re leaving together every night anyway.
“So what kind of place are we talking about?” I ask as we walk toward the car.
“You’ll see,” she says with a mysterious smile. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
“I have excellent taste in food, thank you very much.”
I unlock the car and hold the passenger door open for her, a gesture that would have earned me an eye roll a month ago but now just gets me a small smile. Little victories.
“Alright, where am I driving?” I ask, settling into the driver’s seat. She gives me directions as I navigate out of the garage and into evening traffic. The radio plays softly between us, filling the comfortable silence that’s developed over these past two weeks of shared commutes.
“Turn left here,” she says, pointing to a street I don’t recognize. “It’s just up ahead.”
I pull into a parking spot in front of a small storefront with warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Korean characters are painted on the window alongside English text, and through the glass I can see mismatched tables, handwritten menus, and the controlled chaos of a family-run kitchen.
“Korean food,” I say, surprised but pleased. “I love Korean cuisine.”
“I know,” Eve says with a grin. “I’ve seen those pamphlets from Seoul Kitchen sticking out of your desk drawer. You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”
The fact that she’s been paying attention to details like that makes my pulse kick up. “Observant.”
“It’s one of my better qualities,” she says, getting out of the car. “That, and my excellent taste in restaurants.”
The restaurant is exactly what she described in the car—small, warm, with the kind of authentic atmosphere that can’t be manufactured. We slide into a booth by the window, the city lights painting patterns across our table.
“I spent a summer in Seoul during college,” I say, scanning the menu. “Ate nothing but street food and loved every minute of it.”
“When?” Eve picks up the other menu.
“Second year. There was a graphic design internship. My first internship.”
Eve looks intrigued. “What was Korea like? I’ve never been there.”
“Beautiful. I picked up a little of the language as well. When I started my company, I took a proper language course. Two of my clients’ companies are located in Korea, so it helps if I can speak the language.”
When Eve stares at me, I ask, “What?”
She tries to appear nonchalant, her eyes lowering to the menu. “Nothing. I didn’t know you could speak other languages. Makes me wonder how much I know about you.”
“Told you I’m a mysterious man,” I tease her.
She snorts. “Okay. Why don’t you be mysterious while looking at the menu? I want to eat.”
We order way too much food—bulgogi, kimchi jjigae, banchan that covers every inch of the table. Eve’s animated as she talks about more restaurant recommendations, and I find myself watching the way her hands move when she gets excited about something.
“Try this,” she says, loading up a piece of lettuce with meat and rice. “And don’t you dare put too much gochujang on it. I know you think you can handle spice.”
I take the bite she’s prepared, and it’s perfect. The flavors hit just right, and I nod approvingly. “Not bad, Lopez. You might actually have decent taste.”
“Might have—?” She starts to protest, then stops herself. “You know what? Next time we’ll go to a place of your choosing. See what your taste is actually like.”
“Are you saying you want to take me out on a date next time?” I grin, leaning back in the booth. “I can handle being wined and dined.”
She meets my eyes directly, her gaze flashing with annoyance even as her cheeks stay pink. “Don’t make me kick you.”
I’m about to say something when I see her gaze shift to something beyond my shoulder. Her playful expression is replaced by wariness. I follow her line of sight but don’t see anything unusual through the window. Just the usual evening foot traffic, a few cars parked along the street.
“Everything okay?” I ask, but she’s already turning back to her food, stabbing at her bulgogi with exaggerated force.
“Fine,” she blinks. “I thought I saw someone.”
“Who?” I turn to look but the street is empty.
“Maybe I was imagining things,” she says slowly. “Let’s just eat.”
Eve has developed this habit of putting food on my plate.
“Try this.”
“Here.”
It’s a cute habit, one that I’ve only recently discovered. She doesn’t seem to have noticed it, and I’m not going to point it out. She’s very self-sufficient from what I've learned, but she also likes to take care of people she considers hers.
I have a slight allergy to mangoes. Even the scent makes me queasy.
I never mentioned it to her, but she must have overheard me tell Flora a few weeks back about my mango allergy.
The next day, I found that she had changed the mango-scented handwash in her home to an apple one.
I noticed because it had been a newly opened bottle.
She’s even started placing an extra towel for me in the bathroom, and there’s a mug in her kitchen that’s for my use alone.
It’s the small things she doesn’t think I see. She’ll swear to anybody who asks that she finds me just as annoying as she did the day we met, but then she’ll make sure I dry my hair before getting into bed.
As I watch her put a piece of chicken in my bowl, it hits me that we’re living together. Dazed, I stare down at my bowl.
Wait, no. That can’t be right. But… my clothes are in her wardrobe. I have two pairs of shoes at her place, and I’ve been keeping my chargers at her apartment.
My chargers…
I look up at Eve, a small tendril of fear unfurling in my chest. This was just supposed to be us pretending to be together.
We are sleeping together, but we’re not having sex every night.
Sometimes we watch a movie together, cuddled on the couch.
Sometimes she’s reading, and I’m painting her nails because her feet are so pretty.
Megan’s spent years forcing me to paint her nails so it’s now a skill I could put on my resume.
It’s domestic. We’re alone together. Nobody is there to see us. We’re not pretending.
Oh, I’m so fucked.
“You okay?” Eve pokes me under the table with her shoe. “You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”
“Really?” I ask weakly. “I think I might.”
“Caleb?” The concern in her voice makes me snap back. “What’s wrong?”
I look up at her, and my heart is racing. “I—Everything’s fine.”