Candlelit Conversations
The restaurant was tucked away on a narrow street, invisible unless you knew where to look. Inside, candlelight flickered against dark wood and soft linen, casting shadows that felt intentional—protective. Conversations murmured low around them, private enough to be forgotten. Isabella arrived first. She chose a corner table, her back to the wall, habit ingrained. A single candle burned between two empty glasses. She told herself this was just dinner. Neutral ground. Safe. She was wrong the moment Ethan walked in. He didn’t search the room. He knew where she’d be. His gaze found hers instantly, steady and unreadable, and something in her chest tightened in quiet surrender. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he took the seat across from her. “You’re not,” she replied. “I’m early.” A small
- Writer
