Kiss Me Tomorrow

Chapter 10

Lena's POV

I knew something had changed the moment Adrian looked at me.

It wasn't the usual look.

Not the one he gave me when he was waiting for an answer.

Not the one he used when he was trying to figure out whether I had missed something in a document.

This was different.

He looked distracted.

Almost unsettled.

I had seen it only once before.

Yesterday, when he read the message on the phone.

Except this time, he was trying much harder to hide it.

We were sitting in a small restaurant downtown, the kind of place with warm lighting and tables close enough together that you could hear other people's conversations if you tried.

I had chosen the restaurant.

Adrian had complained about it.

Then he'd been the one to make the reservation.

That was Adrian.

He could disagree with me and still somehow make sure I got what I wanted.

"You're doing it again," I said.

He looked up from his menu.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking."

"I thought everyone did that."

"Not like you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"How do I think?"

"Like you're trying to solve a murder."

A small smile appeared.

"That's dramatic."

"You've been staring at the same page for five minutes."

He glanced down.

"I was reading."

"You've been reading the dessert menu."

He looked at the menu.

Then at me.

"I like dessert."

I laughed.

"You're terrible at lying."

"I've never claimed otherwise."

I closed my menu.

"Adrian."

He sighed.

"Lena."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

I stared at him.

He smiled.

"You're terrible at lying too."

"I wasn't lying."

"You were."

He leaned back.

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then he reached across the table and moved my glass slightly away from the edge.

"You were about to knock that over."

I looked at the glass.

Then at him.

"That was your excuse?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

He hesitated.

"I remembered something yesterday."

My expression softened.

"About that night?"

He nodded.

I waited.

He didn't continue.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet."

The answer was quiet.

I nodded.

"Okay."

He looked surprised.

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"You don't want to know?"

"I do."

"Then why aren't you asking?"

"Because you said you're not ready."

Something changed in his expression.

I didn't know what.

But it made his eyes softer.

"Thank you."

I shrugged.

"You don't have to tell me everything the moment you remember it."

"I know."

"And when you're ready, you will."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I will."

I smiled.

"Good."

The waiter arrived with our food.

For the next few minutes, we talked about absolutely nothing important.

The restaurant.

The terrible traffic.

My obsession with spicy food.

His inability to tolerate anything remotely spicy.

I discovered that Adrian Vale, the man who could intimidate an entire boardroom without raising his voice, had absolutely no resistance to chili.

He took one bite of my food and immediately reached for his water.

I laughed so hard that people at the next table turned to look.

"You didn't warn me."

"I did."

"You said it was a little spicy."

"It is."

"That was not a little."

"It is to me."

He looked offended.

"Your taste buds are broken."

"My taste buds are excellent."

"Your taste buds are dangerous."

I pushed my glass toward him.

"Drink."

"I already did."

"Then drink again."

He shook his head.

But he took the glass.

I watched him.

For the first time since I'd met him, he looked completely relaxed.

No files.

No board meetings.

No secrets.

Just Adrian.

And I liked this version of him.

More than I should.

I looked down at my plate.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I was thinking."

"About?"

"You."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Me?"

"Don't get excited."

"I'm trying not to."

I smiled.

"I was just thinking that you're different outside the office."

"Better or worse?"

"I haven't decided."

"That's disappointing."

"You'll survive."

"I usually do."

We continued eating.

And somehow, the conversation became easier.

He asked about my work before Vale.

I told him about my first major crisis-management case.

He laughed when I told him how badly it had gone.

"You laughed."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"I was smiling."

"At my suffering."

"Your suffering was eleven years ago."

"It still matters."

"Apparently."

Then he told me about his first year at Vale Industries.

He had been twenty-three.

Too young.

Too ambitious.

He'd thought working harder would make people respect him.

Instead, they had watched him more closely because of his surname.

"You hated it?" I asked.

"Sometimes."

"Why did you stay?"

He looked at me.

"Because I wanted to prove I could."

"To them?"

"To myself."

I understood that.

More than I wanted to admit.

"Maybe we're not so different," I said.

He smiled.

"Maybe not."

There was something about the way he said it that made my heart beat a little faster.

I looked away.

---

After dinner, we walked outside.

The evening air was cool.

I wrapped my arms around myself.

Without saying anything, Adrian took off his jacket and held it out.

I looked at it.

"I'm fine."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because you're cold."

I wanted to argue.

Instead, I took it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The jacket smelled faintly like him.

I immediately regretted noticing.

We walked slowly down the street.

No destination.

No urgency.

Just walking.

It was strange.

I had spent the last few days surrounded by questions.

For once, I didn't want answers.

I just wanted the evening to last.

"Do you always walk after dinner?" I asked.

"No."

"So why now?"

He looked at me.

"Because you weren't ready to go home."

I stopped.

"How do you know?"

"You've been walking slower."

I stared at him.

"You really do notice everything."

"I told you."

We continued walking.

A few minutes later, we reached a small park.

There were people sitting on benches, couples talking, children running around.

Normal life.

I sat down.

Adrian sat beside me.

For a while, we watched the city.

"Do you ever think about leaving?" I asked.

"New York?"

"Everything."

He looked at me.

"Sometimes."

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know."

"That's surprising."

"Why?"

"You always seem like you have a plan."

"I do."

"Then where?"

"Somewhere quiet."

I smiled.

"I thought you liked New York."

"I do."

"But?"

"But sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to wake up somewhere nobody knows my name."

I looked at him.

"I understand."

"You?"

"Sometimes I want the same thing."

"Why?"

"Because people have already decided who I am."

He didn't respond.

I looked down at my hands.

"To some people, I'm still Thomas Hart's daughter."

"And what do you want to be?"

I looked at him.

"Myself."

He nodded.

"I think that's fair."

We sat quietly.

Then he said, "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're already doing that."

My chest tightened.

"Doing what?"

"Being yourself."

I looked away before he could see the effect his words had on me.

"You're getting sentimental."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Good."

I smiled.

---

Adrian's POV

Lena was quieter on the walk back.

I wondered if I'd said too much.

I wasn't good at this.

Conversation.

Feelings.

The small things people seemed to understand naturally.

I had spent years learning how to negotiate contracts and read people across conference tables.

But Lena could look at me once and make me question everything I thought I understood about myself.

When we reached her building, she stopped.

"Thank you."

"For dinner?"

"For tonight."

I nodded.

"You needed a break."

"So did you."

She was right.

I had been thinking about the photograph since yesterday.

About the train station.

About the memory that had returned.

But sitting beside her in that park, I had forgotten it for a while.

That felt dangerous.

And good.

"Lena."

"Hmm?"

"There is something I want to tell you."

She waited.

"I don't know what happened after that night."

She nodded.

"But I remember being there."

Her expression softened.

"You don't have to tell me now."

"I know."

"I just wanted you to know that."

"Thank you."

She smiled.

Then she stepped closer.

Not much.

Just enough that I could see the small details of her face.

"You know," she said, "you're not as difficult as I thought."

I smiled.

"That's almost a compliment."

"It is."

"I'll take it."

She laughed softly.

Then she turned toward the entrance.

"Lena."

She looked back.

"Yes?"

I wanted to say something.

I didn't know what.

Stay.

Don't go yet.

I like being with you.

Instead, I said, "Goodnight."

Her smile told me she understood what I hadn't said.

"Goodnight, Adrian."

She walked inside.

I remained there until the doors closed.

Then I looked up at her apartment building.

I had spent years searching for answers.

For the truth about Thomas Hart.

For the person responsible.

For the reason my father had kept so many secrets.

But tonight, for the first time, another thought occupied my mind.

Lena.

And how easily she had become the best part of my day.

---

Lena's POV

I got upstairs and leaned against my apartment door.

I was smiling.

Actually smiling.

I hadn't done that in days.

Maybe weeks.

I removed Adrian's jacket and held it for a moment before hanging it over the back of a chair.

I could still smell his cologne.

I shook my head.

"This is ridiculous."

My phone buzzed.

I picked it up.

A message from Adrian.

Did you get inside?

I smiled.

Yes.

A few seconds later:

Good.

I typed:

You really like that word.

His response came quickly.

You really like teasing me.

I laughed.

Maybe.

Three dots.

Then:

Sleep well, Lena.

I looked at the message for a long moment.

There was no mystery.

No threat.

No secret.

Just a simple goodnight.

And somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

I typed back.

You too, Adrian.

I put my phone down.

Then picked it up again.

I smiled at myself.

Tomorrow?

His reply came almost immediately.

Tomorrow.

I stared at that one word.

And for the first time since this entire mess began, tomorrow didn't feel like something I had to fear.

It felt like something I wanted.

Tomorrow, I'd see him again.