Catch But Don't Release

Chapter 13

Brody’s next message came through with the same quiet confidence that had been unraveling Emily since the night before.

Brody: May I ask where we’re going? Should I dress to impress or relax?

Emily’s smile was instant, soft, impossible to hide.

Emily: Relaxed is best.

Lola watched her with a knowing look—the kind that said you’re gone, girl, but also I’m here if you crash. Emily didn’t say anything else; she didn’t need to. The truth was already written all over her face.

Good thing her day flew by, because she wouldn’t have survived a slow one. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. Every time she caught herself smiling, she forced her expression neutral—only for it to creep back seconds later.

Before she knew it, the clock hit the end of her shift.

Her stomach flipped.

It was time.

She grabbed her bag and texted him:

Emily: Where should we meet up?

His reply came almost immediately.

Brody: I can pick you up, if you would like.

Her breath caught. He didn’t have to offer. He wanted to.

Emily: Sure. Do you remember the address?

Brody: Of course.

Of course he did.

Emily: Is 6:30 okay?

Brody: See you at 6:30.

Emily rushed home, excitement buzzing under her skin. She tore through her closet until she found the perfect outfit—skinny jeans that hugged her curves, a loose blouse that fell just right, and summer platforms that gave her a little height without trying too hard. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, letting a few strands frame her face.

She checked the mirror.

She looked… good. But more importantly, she felt like herself.

A knock at the door.

Her heart jumped.

She opened it—and Brody’s eyes swept over her before he could stop himself. Slow. Appreciative. His gaze traveled from her shoes to her ponytail, then finally met her eyes.

He held another bouquet of flowers.

“Wow,” he said, voice low, sincere. “You look amazing.”

Emily felt heat rush to her cheeks. “Thank you.”

She took the flowers, trying not to melt, and hurried to put them in water. Brody stepped inside just enough to glance around—curious, respectful, not snooping—before meeting her in the kitchen.

“Ready?” he asked.

Emily nodded. “Yes.”

They headed outside where the car was already waiting. Brody opened the door for her—of course he did—and she slid in, heart fluttering. He joined her, then lowered the partition so she could give the driver the address.

She didn’t say the name of the place—she wanted the surprise intact.

Once the car pulled away, they slipped into easy conversation. Small talk about work, their day, little things that shouldn’t feel intimate but somehow did.

Every time their eyes met, the air tightened just a little more.

Every time he smiled at her, she felt herself falling a little further.

And Brody… Brody looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and was very, very patient about getting it.

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the curb, and Brody glanced out the window just as the neon sign came into view—warm oranges and reds, the soft glow of string lights, the unmistakable charm of a Spanish restaurant tucked between two taller buildings. His smile was immediate, slow, appreciative.

Emily watched him carefully, waiting for his reaction.

He turned to her, eyes warm. “So this is where you’re taking me.”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “Not the fancy stuff you’re probably used to… but they have great food.”

Brody held her gaze, his voice low and certain. “I trust your decision.”

That simple sentence sent a flutter through her chest.

The moment they stepped inside, the aroma hit them—garlic sizzling in olive oil, smoky paprika, saffron, roasted peppers, warm bread. The air felt alive, buzzing with conversation and clinking glasses.

The host led them to a small table near the back, intimate without being obvious. A candle flickered between them, casting soft shadows across Brody’s face.

They sat, menus opening in unison.

Brody looked up first. “What do you recommend?”

Emily leaned forward, excitement slipping into her voice. “Okay, so… the patatas bravas are amazing—crispy potatoes with this spicy aioli that’s addictive. And the gambas al ajillo—garlic shrimp—are my favorite. Oh, and if you like rice dishes, their paella mixta is incredible.”

Brody’s lips curved. “I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

She laughed. “You don’t even know what I’m ordering.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “I’m in good hands.”

Her cheeks warmed again.

The dishes arrived one by one, filling the table with color and steam.

Patatas bravas with a smoky red sauce

Gambas al ajillo, the garlic scent intoxicating

Croquetas de jamón, golden and crisp

A shared paella, vibrant with saffron, chicken, shrimp, and mussels

Emily watched Brody take his first bite of the potatoes. His eyebrows lifted.

“Okay,” he said, pointing his fork at her, “you were right.”

She grinned. “Told you.”

They fell into easy conversation—work stories, childhood memories, little jokes that made them both laugh harder than expected. Every time Emily laughed, Brody watched her like he was memorizing the sound. Every time he leaned in to tell her something, she felt the warmth of him, the pull.

At one point, Emily reached for a croqueta at the same time Brody did. Their fingers brushed—light, accidental, electric.

She froze. He didn’t move.

His eyes lifted to hers, slow and deliberate.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” he murmured.

The air tightened, charged, but neither of them pulled away until the server arrived with fresh plates.

As they ate, the conversation deepened. Brody told her about a disastrous business trip that ended with him accidentally ordering cow tongue. Emily nearly choked laughing. She told him about her grandmother teaching her to dance flamenco in the living room, and he listened like it was the most fascinating story he’d ever heard.

There was no awkwardness. No forced small talk. Just warmth, laughter, and a connection that felt too natural to be new.

At one point, Emily wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth, and Brody’s eyes followed the motion with a softness that made her breath catch.

“You’re different tonight,” he said quietly.

“How so?”

“You’re… relaxed. Happy.” His voice dropped. “I like seeing you like this.”

Emily swallowed, her heart thudding. “Maybe it’s the company.”

Brody’s smile was slow, knowing, devastating. “Then I’ll take that as a win.”

The night was already turning into something neither of them could walk away from.