Page 16 of Caleb

“Good evening,” she said. “A table for one, please.”

“Of course,” the maître d’ replied, scanning his seating chart.

Before he could say more, another voice interrupted from behind her.

“Table for one,” the voice drawled.

Taylor stiffened, the familiarity of that voice sending a ripple down her spine. She turned, and there he was—Caleb Burnett, his crooked smile and infuriating charm as maddening as ever.

“Seriously?” she said, crossing her arms. “Are you following me?”

He tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “No. What can I say? Great minds think alike.”

The maître d’ cleared his throat, glancing between them. “I’m sorry, there is a large convention here. We only have one table available for the next three hours.”

Taylor blinked. “One table?”

“Yes,” the maître d’ said with an apologetic smile.

The smell was overwhelming, and her stomach growled like she’d just entered the lion’s den.

Her gaze shot to Caleb, who looked far too amused by the situation.

“Well,” Caleb said, his tone light, “looks like I got here first.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true. I was already being seated.”

“You were talking about being seated,” he corrected, his grin widening.

She glared at him, her exhaustion and hunger dampening her patience. “Fine. Take the table. I’ll find another place to eat.”

Her stomach was screaming, no, but her heart was saying walk away, protect herself from the temptation of sitting across the table from him. Having dinner with Caleb felt like opening a door she’d worked too hard to keep shut.

She needed her walls to stay firmly in place, a fortress around her heart, to keep him from reaching the parts of her that were still vulnerable to his charm, his smile, and the memories of what they once had.

Staying meant risking everything. Walking away felt like the only way to keep herself safe.

The maître d’ interrupted with a diplomatic cough. “Perhaps... you could share the table?”

They both turned to him, then to each other, the same look of horror flashing across their faces.

“No,” Taylor said flatly, at the exact moment Caleb said, “I don’t think that’s?—”

The maître d’ gave them a polite but firm smile. “It’s a busy evening. Sharing the table is the only option if you both wish to dine here.”

Taylor hesitated, her stomach growling in protest. Caleb raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to object again. Finally, she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But only because I’m starving.”

“Fine with me,” Caleb said, smirking. “I’m great company.”

Sadly, he was right—hehadbeen exceptional company once. He’d been the kind of man who could make her laugh until her sides hurt, who knew exactly how to draw her out of her shell with a teasing grin or a well-timed comment.

But sitting down to dinner with him now felt like walking a tightrope without a safety net. It was a risk she wasn’t sure she should take, one that could leave her more vulnerable than she was ready to be.

She resolved to keep things simple: eat her food, exchange a few polite words, and then excuse herself as quickly as possible. Back to her room, back to her safe bubble where he couldn’t chip away at the walls she’d built around her heart.

Taylor rolled her eyes but followed the maître d’ to the small corner table. Caleb pulled out her chair before sitting across from her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

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