More Than a Gesture

She said yes.

That single thought repeated in my head like a drumbeat as I stood in front of the mirror in my suite, adjusting the cuffs of my crisp navy shirt. No tie. Rolled sleeves. Effortless, but intentional. I wanted to look good, but not like I was trying too hard.

Because this wasn't a business dinner.

This was something else.

The restaurant I'd chosen wasn't extravagant. Tucked into the far end of Las Veritas' old town district, it was a place you had to know about to find. Intimate tables lit with candles. Stone walls and overgrown ivy vines on the patio. A string quartet played in the background, soft enough not to intrude. It was the kind of place that didn't need advertisement—its charm was in its quiet confidence.

Much like her.

I arrived early. The hostess led me to our reserved table near a small fountain trickling beneath a fig tree. I sat, drumming my fingers lightly on the table. A waiter poured a glass of water. I declined the wine. Not until she arrived.

And then she did.

Celine walked in wearing a sleeveless navy dress that stopped just below her knees. Simple but elegant. Her hair was down, soft waves brushing her shoulders. She didn't wear much jewelry, only a pair of silver earrings and the faintest shimmer at her collarbone.

When our eyes met, everything else faded for a moment.

"Hi," she said, sliding into the seat across from me.

"Hi."

There was a pause. Comfortable, but charged.

"You look nice," I offered.

"So do you," she replied. "Not a suit. I'm impressed."

I laughed, relaxing slightly. "I figured I'd try something new."

Dinner began with fresh bread, followed by a trio of local cheeses and garden salads. The pasta came next—hand-rolled tagliatelle with lemon cream and grilled shrimp. We didn't rush through it. Conversation bloomed naturally, like we were relearning each other without pressure.

She told me about her favorite books—surprisingly eclectic, from high-stakes thrillers to old-school romances. I told her about the first time I tried to cook as a teenager and nearly set the kitchen on fire.

"No way," she said, laughing. "You, of all people?"

"I was twelve. Thought I'd surprise my mom with pancakes. Used salt instead of sugar and forgot to turn the stove down."

"What happened?"

"She laughed for a week. Made me eat every bite."

That softened something in her.

"She sounds amazing," Celine said.

"She is."

There was a lull as we both sipped from our wine glasses. The string quartet shifted into a slow, wistful melody.

"I didn't expect this," she said finally.

"What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Sitting here. Laughing. Not fighting."

"I didn't either," I admitted. "But I'm glad we are."

She looked down at her hands. "I've spent so long building walls, I forgot what it felt like to enjoy someone's company without wondering what they want from me."

I leaned forward. "I don't want anything from you, Celine. Except maybe another evening like this. And then maybe another."

Her eyes met mine, something uncertain flickering behind them. "That's new."

"I can do new," I said softly.

Dessert was brought out—warm apple tarts with vanilla cream. She took a bite and closed her eyes.

"Oh my God. This might be the best thing I've eaten in a year."

I laughed. "Better than Cater's boardroom coffee?"

"Infinitely."

When the check came, I waved it off. "It's on me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Chivalry or guilt?"

"Hope," I replied.

She didn't argue.

We walked out into the cool night, the cobblestones glowing under golden streetlamps. I offered my arm. She took it.

We didn't speak much on the drive back to the resort, but the silence was different now. Full. Charged.

At her door, she paused with her hand on the handle.

"Thank you for tonight," she said.

"You're welcome."

Another pause. Then: "Goodnight, Blake."

"Goodnight, Celine."

And she slipped inside, leaving the scent of lavender and something unspoken hanging in the air.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the closed door, feeling a pull in my chest I hadn't expected.

This wasn't just an arrangement anymore.

Something real had begun.

End of Chapter Forty-Eight