The drive home from the restaurant was quiet in the best way. Andrea sat in the passenger seat with her hand still laced through Henry’s, the city lights sliding across her face in fleeting ribbons of gold and white. The hum of the tires on asphalt was steady, soothing, and every so often Henry would glance over at her. His smile was small, private, the kind of smile that looked like he was still savoring the evening they had just shared.
Andrea caught one of those glances and felt her chest tighten. She wasn’t used to being looked at like that—like she was more than just company, more than just a distraction. She shifted slightly, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand, and tried to steady the nervous flutter low in her stomach.
When they stepped into the penthouse, the lights w
