“Henry, this steakhouse is the best,” Thea said as they walked side by side toward the building, her tone light, almost playful. A small smile curved her lips, the kind that came easily now, not forced or cautious. “The meal’s on me.”
Henry glanced at her, amused. “I won’t argue with that,” he replied, nodding with quiet excitement. He looked relaxed, present, not calculating her mood or bracing for sudden shifts. That alone felt unfamiliar to Thea in a way she was still learning to appreciate.
As they reached the entrance, a staff member stepped forward promptly, her posture respectful. Thea reached into her purse and produced a sleek card, holding it out confidently.
“Hi,” she said politely. “I’m number nine.”
She handed the card over. The staff collected it with a slight bow, glance
