Page 17 of One Night Flame

“Afraid not.”

There was a beat where I thought he might press—ask why, ask what kind of shut-in I’d been. But instead, he just grinned like it was his favorite kind of surprise.

“Well, then you’re in for a treat.” He shifted gears like it was no big deal. “Please tell me you eat carbs.”

“Like a second religion.”

He let out a low chuckle. “We’re gonna get on just fine.”

Mario’s sat on the edge of downtown in a refurbished brick building with big windows and ivy creeping up the front. The kind of place people remembered proposals and anniversaries in. The kind of place you didn’t show up to in leggings with your kid covered in marker—so yeah, not exactly my usual scene.

Inside, the lighting was low and warm, the air heavy with garlic and oregano. The tables had white paper over linen and crayons tucked into a little tin—a just in case, though most of the tables tonight were filled with couples and not kids.

The host greeted Cord by name, which didn’t surprise me. He seemed like the kind of guy who knew everyone, not because he was trying, but because people just liked him.

We were seated in a corner booth, the candle between us flickering against the glass. The space was intimate in a way thatmade conversation easy. Close. I slid in and tried not to overthink how I was sitting. What my dress did when I crossed my legs. How many times I’d glanced at his mouth.

I could hardly be blamed for it. It was a really great mouth, and he keptsmiling.

He gave the menu a once-over, then looked at me instead. “You okay with red?”

“Completely.”

One bottle of wine and a warm bread basket later, I was already laughing.

It wasn’t forced. I didn’t even realize how relaxed I’d gotten until I stopped to breathe and felt my shoulders not trying to climb up my ears. Cord was easy to talk to, but more than that—he made it feel like I wasn’t just being tolerated. Like he was actually curious. About me. And not in a way that felt like an interview or an agenda.

He told a story about his first firehouse call—something with a goat and a very angry rooster—and when I nearly snorted wine out of my nose, he just grinned like that was the best part of the night so far.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.

And when his fingers brushed mine as we reached for the same piece of bread, he didn’t jerk back. He just let them linger, warm and steady, like we’d done this before. Like we might do it again.

I was flirting. I was enjoying it. And more than that, I was starting to feel like maybe this night—this moment—wasn’t just a borrowed fantasy. It might actually belong to me.

The check had come and gone. There was exactly one bite of chocolate torte left between us, and I was already calculating whether it would be rude to claim it.

Cord caught the look and gave a little nod. “Take it.”

I hesitated a half-second—then didn’t.

“Smart woman,” he said, and I didn’t miss the way his smile lingered.

I licked a bit of ganache from my fork and set it down, leaning back against the booth. The candlelight flickered low between us, shadows pooling at the edges of his jaw, making everything feel closer. Warmer.

“What’s something you miss?” he asked.

The question landed soft but deep.

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“Something that used to light you up,” he said. “Before life got crowded.”

My mouth opened, then closed again.

It wasn’t the kind of question you usually got on a first date. It wasn’t even a first-date kind of date. This whole thing had been a stunt, a fundraising joke. And somehow it had turned into the first real adult moment I’d had in longer than I cared to admit.

I didn’t overthink the answer. “Dancing. I used to love dancing.”

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