Daisy’s POV
The restaurant was exactly right.
That was the first thing I thought when we walked in, not impressive, the way he had said, but right. Small and warm and lit with the kind of light that made people look like themselves rather than like versions of themselves designed for being seen. Close tables with enough distance between them for real conversation. A menu written on a small card without the ceremony of leather covers. The kind of place that existed for eating and talking rather than for being seen to eat and talk.
He had thought about this.
Not about what would look good or communicate the right signal, about what would feel right. There was a difference and I had spent enough time around people who confused those two things to appreciate it when someone understood the
