Page 13 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
David's laugh is rich. He leans closer, the space between us charged with possibility. "And how am I looking at you?"
"Like you're reading between my lines."
For a moment, we're suspended in this perfect tension. His eyes, warm and focused solely on me, create a bubble where my constant vigilance quiets. The restaurant fades around us. My shoulders relax a fraction.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe there's space for something beyond the investigation, beyond Jenny's case, beyond the constant running.
"Excuse me for a minute?" David gestures toward the restrooms. "Don't solve any major conspiracies while I'm gone."
He weaves between tables, and I admire the confident set of his shoulders in his tailored suit.
Alone, I exhale slowly, tracing the stem of my champagne flute. Mom's voice comes back to me, "Sometimes the hardest stories to investigate are our own, Alina. Not everyone deserves your suspicion."
I've built walls so high I can barely see over them myself. Every relationship categorized as a potential risk. Every connection weighed against what it might cost me professionally.
When did I become so afraid?
My gaze drifts across the restaurant, taking in happy couples, business associates, friends. Ordinary peopleenjoying their everyday lives. None of them scanning exits or checking for hidden threats.
A strange detachment settles over me, like I'm suddenly watching myself from outside my body. Sitting here in this expensive restaurant, playing at normalcy, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because something doesn't feel right. Not about David specifically, but about... everything. This perfect evening, this attempt at connection—it feels like I'm waiting for it all to unravel.
The knot in my chest tightens as I glance toward the restrooms. David's been gone for almost ten minutes now. I grab my phone, pretending to check something important when really, I'm just measuring time.
This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a teenager.
A waiter passes with a tray of desserts that look like tiny works of art. The couple at the next table leans in, whisperingand laughing. I shift in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of being alone at a table set for two.
Maybe I should text him?
No. That would look desperate.I'm an award-winning journalist who's faced down corrupt politicians and corporate criminals. I don't need to check on a grown man who knows where the bathroom is.
My phone vibrates against the white tablecloth. A message from David lights up the screen.
"I'm so sorry, Alina. Emergency with a client. Have to leave immediately. Check is already paid. I'll call you."
I read it twice, blinking at the words that don't change no matter how hard I stare.
That's it?
The disappointment hits like a physical blow. I set the phone down and take a deliberate sip of wine, trying to look unbothered for absolutely no one's benefit. The rich cabernet tastes like ash now.
He couldn't even come back to the table to say goodbye?
My fingers tap against the stem of the flute. I'd actually allowed myself to feel something tonight. To wonder if maybe there could be space in my life for something beyond work and grief and suspicion.
Jenny's face flashes in my mind. Her bright smile in the newsroom the day before she disappeared. The way she'd teased me about needing to "get a life outside that filing cabinet." The cold, hollow feeling when I identified her body.
Is this my punishment for trying to move forward? For thinking I deserve something good?
I drain the last of my wine, the liquid burning a path down my throat. The restaurant continues its elegant dance around me—servers gliding between tables, the soft murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. Normal people living normal lives.
This is exactly why I don't do this.
I gather my purse and stand, smoothing down the black dress I'd been so careful selecting. The dress that made me feel beautiful for the first time in months. What a waste.
"Can I get you anything else, ma'am?" A server appears at my elbow with practiced timing.
