It was later in the shift when the moment finally came. The restaurant had slowed. Only a few tables remained, lingering over their drinks, the low hum of conversation soft against the background music.
Caspian had retreated behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of water, willing the tension in his shoulders to ease. Then—Laura.
Laura approached with a slow, easy gait, her presence so familiar yet charged with anticipation. Her fingers brushed absently over the menu stand, tracing the edge of the slick plastic, a small gesture that seemed to say so much and so little.
The tentative expectation between them hung heavy in the air, a well-rehearsed refrain on the verge of playing itself out once more. She came to lean against the counter, her posture both casual and considered, like an a
