ISABELLA
I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or the sleek, minimalist design of the place, but there was something about this restaurant that made me feel like I had just stepped into one of those curated Pinterest boards I used to get lost in back when life was simpler.
Or maybe it was the faint scent of sandalwood and bergamot that hung delicately in the air, weaving through the space like an invisible thread of luxury.
Either way, the moment I walked through the glass double doors, guided by Logan’s hand at the small of my back, I felt... out of place.
And that wasn’t something I admitted to often.
I stood just a few paces behind Logan as he spoke to the receptionist, a grecian-featured woman with her dark hair wound so tightly into a bun I wondered if she ever had headaches from
