3
756 Words
Sage shut the laptop with a soft click and stretched, arms over her head.
“I’m starving,” she announced. “Dinner.”
Ramsi didn’t look up from her screen. “You just drank a cup of coffee that could wake the dead.”
“Exactly. I burned calories surviving it.”
Sage leaned her elbows on the table, eyes bright with mischief. “What about that pasta place? The one you pretend you don’t love but absolutely judge every other restaurant against.”
Ramsi finally looked up, unimpressed. “I do not love it.”
“You order the same thing every time.”
“Because it’s consistent.”
“Because you’re emotionally attached to handmade pappardelle.”
Ramsi snapped her laptop shut. “Do not psychoanalyze me using carbohydrates.”
Sage grinned wider. “So… dinner?”
Ramsi sighed, rubbing her temple. “We have work.”
“We always have work. You can’t keep running on caffeine and moral superiority.”
“I am not—”
“You haven’t eaten properly in two days,” Sage continued, sing-song. “And don’t start lecturing me about efficiency and fuel, because this is literally fuel.”
Ramsi opened her mouth, already forming a rebuttal—
“Ladies.”
The voice was calm. Polite. Controlled.
Both women looked up at the same time.
Dominic Moretti stood at the edge of their table, jacket unbuttoned, expression neutral but intent. Enzo lingered half a step behind him, hands relaxed, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Sage’s brows lifted. Slowly. Delighted.
Ramsi’s posture shifted—subtle, automatic. Not defensive. Just ready.
“Yes?” Ramsi said.
Dominic gestured lightly to the empty chair. “Mind if we join you for a moment?”
Sage glanced at Ramsi, then back at Dominic. “Depends,” she said sweetly. “Are you about to sell us something, threaten us, or flirt badly?”
Enzo huffed once, amused.
Dominic’s mouth twitched. “None of the above.”
Ramsi studied him for a beat, then inclined her head a fraction. “A moment.”
Dominic sat. Enzo remained standing, eyes flicking briefly to the laptop, the bags, the exits—clocking the same things Ramsi had earlier.
Sage leaned back, chin in her hand. “So. You’ve been watching us.”
Dominic didn’t deny it. “You handled that situation earlier… efficiently.”
Ramsi’s tone cooled. “It was handled.”
“Yes,” Dominic agreed. “That’s why it stood out.”
Enzo finally spoke, voice low. “Most people escalate. You ended it before it started.”
“Experience,” Ramsi replied evenly.
Sage smiled brightly. “She’s great at parties.”
Dominic’s gaze returned to Ramsi. “You’re not from Chicago.”
“No,” Ramsi said.
“And you don’t sit with your back to windows unless you’re very confident,” Enzo added.
Sage clapped softly. “Gold star for observation.”
Ramsi shot her a look. “Do not encourage them.”
Dominic chuckled quietly. “We weren’t trying to intrude. But it seemed a shame to ignore people who clearly know how to handle themselves.”
Sage leaned forward. “Funny. We were just talking about dinner.”
Ramsi turned to her sharply. “We were not talking. You were suggesting.”
“And you were about to agree.”
Ramsi opened her mouth to argue—
Dominic interjected smoothly, “If you’re considering the pasta place on Halsted… it’s better if you go early. It fills fast.”
Ramsi paused.
“How do you—” Sage started.
Ramsi’s eyes narrowed slightly, not hostile, just alert. “You’ve been listening.”
Dominic met her gaze without flinching. “Only enough to know good food shouldn’t be postponed.”
A beat of silence.
Sage’s grin was positively feral. “Well,” she said, standing, “this just got interesting.”
Ramsi exhaled slowly, already annoyed. “You are not invited.”
Dominic rose as well, unbothered. “Didn’t say we were.”
Enzo inclined his head. “But it seems we’ll be seeing each other again.”
Ramsi didn’t respond. She simply shouldered her bag, eyes steady on Dominic.
“Perhaps,” she said.
And as they turned toward the door, Sage leaned in and whispered, far too loudly, “You love the pasta place.”
Ramsi muttered, “I will leave you in this city.”
Dominic watched them go, something thoughtful settling behind his eyes.
“Dinner,” Enzo murmured.
Dominic nodded once. “Dinner.”
- Writer
