YOU ARE MY LIGHT

CHAPTER 11 : THE DATE

“Dinner?” I repeated, hoping—praying—I had misheard him.

“Yes.” Vincent folded his arms, calm and unreadable. “Dinner. Tonight.”

My brain instantly went into calculations I didn’t want to make. One expensive restaurant could swallow my rent. Dessert alone might equal two months of electricity. Wine? I didn’t even want to imagine it. I pictured a small bill turning into something terrifying—something I would regret for weeks.

“I… of course, sir,” I said, forcing a professional smile. It probably looked more like a nervous twitch. “That sounds… wonderful.”

Wonderful disaster.

I tried to retreat, to escape before my imagination convinced me I was already broke. Then I remembered—my shift ended at 3:00 PM. Like a modern Cinderella running from the ball, I spun back toward him.

“Sir, I’m so sorry!” I blurted out, faking deep regret. “The dinner has to be postponed. I completely forgot my shift ends at 3:00 PM. I won’t be here tonight to… treat you.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

That single word should have been relief.

It wasn’t.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders, guiding me toward the door. The touch was professional—gentle—but it sent an unexpected ripple through me. Not fear. Not excitement. Just awareness.

“I’ll pick you up when the time comes,” he said. “I’ll call you.”

The door closed softly in my face.

My excuse evaporated like smoke.

* * *

At home, my room looked like a small battlefield of indecision. Dresses lay across the bed, draped over the chair, even half-hanging from the wardrobe. I held a navy dress in one hand and my credit card in the other.

Which restaurant could I afford without selling a kidney? What was I even supposed to wear? I muttered to myself, tossing the navy dress aside dramatically. It landed in a heap. I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it could answer my problems.

Then I saw it.

A simple white gown hung quietly at the edge of my wardrobe.

Soft.

Elegant.

Not flashy.

I stood and lifted it against my body, examining my reflection in the mirror.

“He’s going to see this,” I whispered, half joking, “and beg to pay instead.”

I laughed at my own imagination. A weak, nervous laugh—but it helped.

My phone rang.

The screen lit up: Mr. Vincent.

My heart skipped.

I usually hated talking on the phone with guys. Calls felt too intimate, too exposing. But with him, I didn’t hesitate.

“Hi, Juliet.” His voice flowed through the speaker, warm and steady, making me smile before I could stop myself.

“Hello, Mr. Vincent.”

“I’m calling to tell you I’ll choose the place,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“I’ve got a location in mind. Are you ready? Should I come now or give you a few minutes?”

“In fifteen minutes,” I replied automatically.

“Okay.”

He hung up.

I stared at the phone, my pulse racing. Fifteen minutes. That meant I had fifteen minutes to look like I belonged in whatever world he was taking me to.

I rushed to the bathroom, heart beating faster with every second. When he texted that he was outside, I smoothed down the white gown—the same “defensive dress” I had chosen, hoping it would convince him to lower expectations—and stepped outside.

He leaned casually against the car, one hand in his pocket. His eyes found mine immediately.

He didn’t blink.

I felt suddenly small, nervous, as if the ground beneath me had shifted.

A rare, quiet laugh escaped him. He straightened and opened the passenger door.

“You look beautiful, Juliet.”

Two words.

Simple.

Devastating.

They reached places I didn’t want them to reach.

“Thank you,” I whispered, sliding into the seat before my knees could betray me.

The drive was calm.

Soft music played.

City lights blurred past the window.

But we weren’t heading toward the glamorous part of town—the kind of places with reservations and wine lists that made me sweat. Where was he taking me? I wondered, but he looked focused, so I kept quiet.

“Are we… going somewhere secret?” I asked finally.

He glanced at me. “Afraid?”

“I’m just emotionally preparing my bank account.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “I’m not taking you somewhere that requires a reservation three months in advance.”

Relief washed through me.

We parked in an older part of town.

“We’ll walk from here,” he said.

Walk?

I followed him, curiosity battling nerves. The narrow lane smelled of grilled meat and spices. Warm evening air wrapped around us. People laughed. Plates clinked. Music drifted faintly from small shops.

It didn’t look like a place for CEOs.

It looked… real.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

My attention snapped to it—who would call him this late? A business partner? A girlfriend I didn’t know about? My imagination spiraled, and I almost forgot to breathe.

A loud roar shattered the moment.

A motorcycle sped past, far too close.

Before I could react, Vincent’s hand closed around mine.

A firm, protective tug pulled me to his side.

The motorcycle blurred by.

I froze.

“Be careful,” he murmured, voice low and worried. His grip remained steady, grounding. Safe.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he said into the phone. “I’ll send the documents later.”

I exhaled slowly.

Just business.

He still held my hand.

I didn’t want him to let go.

We arrived at a small, humble restaurant.

Vincent ducked slightly to enter the low doorway.

“Here?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. Come in.”

The owner’s eyes widened.

“Vincent? Is that you? It’s been ages!”

Warm greetings followed.

I watched him interact with the owner—easy smiles, genuine familiarity. This wasn’t the cold, untouchable surgeon the nurses whispered about. This was someone human. Someone who remembered places and people.

Something inside me softened.

The walls I had built over years of self-protection cracked—quietly, almost imperceptibly.

We sat at a wooden table.

Soft yellow lights.

The smell of grilled skewers and pepper sauce.

He ordered without looking at the menu.

“Two of the usual.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Usual?”

He glanced at me. “It’s good. You’ll like it.”

When the food arrived, he ate with quiet satisfaction—like someone savoring a small, long-lost comfort.

I stared, caught off guard by how much he enjoyed something so simple.

“I know I’m handsome, Juliet,” he said suddenly, eyes glinting with mischief, “but if you keep staring, you’re going to make me nervous.”

I choked on nothing, coughing as heat rushed to my face.

He calmly handed me water.

He gets nervous… because of me?

“Careful,” he murmured.

I avoided his gaze.

“I wasn’t staring.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I looked down immediately.

Then the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And died.

Darkness swallowed us.

No hum of bulbs. No glow from overhead lamps. Just the faint sounds of the restaurant and our breathing.

Someone laughed nervously nearby.

I forced a smile.

“Really? A blackout?”

But something changed.

The air shifted.

Vincent’s posture stiffened.

His hand tightened slightly on the table.

Breathing uneven—controlled, like he was fighting it.

The darkness stretched.

I could barely see him, but I heard it—short inhales, deliberate exhales.

“Mr. Vincent?” I whispered.

No answer.

The lights flickered back.

His face looked pale.

Jaw clenched.

Eyes focused on the table as if grounding himself.

I reached across and touched his hand.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

He pulled back slightly, drinking water with unnecessary focus. Minutes passed before his breathing steadied.

Not as a nurse.

Not as an employee.

As a person, I looked at him.

Really looked.

“I used to come here with my father,” he said softly after some minutes. His gaze drifted to the wall, distant. “I haven’t been back since he died.”

My heart cracked.

Not sympathy alone—but understanding.

Loss lived in places. In memories. In small restaurants that once held laughter.

I didn’t know what to say.

Sometimes there were no perfect words.

Later, when it came time to pay, I reached for the check.

He beat me to it.

“I thought I was treating you!” I protested.

“It’s fine, I just want to come here with someone.” he replied.

The word hung between us—simple, yet loaded with meaning.

Outside, the night air was cooler.

For a moment I thought the evening would end quietly.

Then our phones screamed simultaneously.

Emergency alert.

Major highway accident.

Multiple casualties.

The softness vanished.

Vincent’s expression shifted—focused, professional, ready.

“Let’s go.”

Without another word, we ran toward the hospital.

Romance could wait.

Lives could not.

But as I sprinted beside him, breath catching in my chest, a quiet dread settled over me.

I had spent my whole life hiding from one man's shadow, and tonight, the air smelled exactly like the nights I used to dread at home. I didn't know it yet, but the disaster waiting for us at the hospital wasn't just medical—it was personal.