CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHTFAULT LINES
The evening air curled around Arielle like silk as she stepped out of the cab. The rooftop restaurant shimmered with fairy lights and candle flames, high above the pulse of the city. A violinist played softly in the background, his melody laced with longing. She clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the breeze making her hyperaware of everything—the smooth texture of her dress, the click of her heels, the way her stomach tightened with nerves. Ezra stood at the entrance, handsome in a dark tailored suit. His smile was easy, eyes warm as they drank her in. "You look stunning," he said, offering his hand. "Thank you," she replied, her voice soft. "You clean up nicely yourself." He chuckled, his fingers brushing against hers as he led her toward their reserved table at the edge
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