Page 97 of Slots & Sticks
“Camden.” I turn toward him, wide-eyed. “How did you get us in? Did Dante pull strings? Or did you bribe someone? Please tell me you didn’t bribe someone.”
He smirks and adjusts his cufflinks. “I didn’t.”
I blink. “You didn’t?”
He shakes his head once. “Nope. I made the reservation three months ago.”
The world tilts. “Three months?”
“Give or take a few days.” He glances over, still calm, still infuriatingly sure. “I didn’t know what we’d be by now—friends, strangers, something in between—but I knew I’d want to celebrate something with you.”
Awareness flashes before my eyes. Three months ago, my entire world turned upside down. I was a wreck, orbiting grief and chaos, convinced no one would ever choose me. And the whole time, he was out here making space for a future I didn’t even believe existed.
He steps out and circles around to my side, offering his hand. “After you, Dot.”
When I take it, warmth hums through my chest. The hostess greets him like he belongs here—“Mr. Beck, right this way”—and I follow, half floating, half terrified I’ll trip and ruin the moment.
The dining room unfolds like a dream: crystal chandeliers, white linen, candles flickering in glass bowls that mirror the lights of the Strip through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Camden pulls out my chair, and when I sit, the view makes every nerve sing in celebration. “Cam,” I whisper. “This is… perfect.”
He smiles, all quiet confidence and slow gravity. “That was the idea.”
The waiter brings champagne before we even order. Camden thanks him like a man who knows his way around this kind of restaurant—confident but kind. I stare at the bubbles rising in my glass, terrified I’ll say something that ruins the spell.
“Are we celebrating something?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend.
He studies me over the rim of his glass. “We are. But you’ll have to be patient.”
Patience has never been my strong suit. Especially not when his eyes keep flicking to me the way they are now—like he’s memorizing me. I’ve seen that look before, but never with this much weight behind it.
The waiter returns with menus, and I pretend to read while sneaking glances at Camden. His hair’s a little too long, curling just behind his ears. His suit jacket stretches across his shoulders in a way that makes my heart tumble. And that little line between his brows deepens every time he catches me watching him, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
When the waiter disappears again, Camden leans in, forearms on the table. “You look beautiful, Dot.”
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I’m pretty sure everyone in here looks beautiful. It’s, like, a prerequisite for getting through the door.”
He tilts his head. “No. You’re radiant. And you’d light up any room, even one as over-the-top as this.”
The compliment sinks into me slow and sweet. My instinct is to deflect, to joke, to make myself smaller. But I can’t do that with him. Not anymore.
Instead, I reach for my glass and whisper, “You’ve always seen me when I didn’t think anyone could.”
His lips curve upward. “That’s because you’ve always been worth seeing.”
Something swells in my chest—grief, love, disbelief. All of it at once. For so long, I thought I had to earn love. That I had to be easier, quieter, better. But sitting here, in this impossible restaurant, I realize Camden’s loved me through every messy version of myself.
We talk about everything and nothing after that. About Soot’s new obsession with stealing plastic tabs. About the dogs and how Bo refuses to sleep in her own bed now. About my dad’s recovery and how the tribute concert somehow made everything hurt and heal at the same time.
Cam listens to every word like it matters. Like I matter.
When the plates arrive, I’m not sure either of us is hungry anymore, but we eat anyway. He keeps sneaking bites of my pasta, and I let him. I even pretend to be annoyed just to see him smile.
Halfway through dessert, he clears his throat. “There’s one more thing I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
My fork stalls mid-air. “Okay?”
He shifts slightly, one hand reaching inside his jacket. “You remember how I said I made this reservation months ago?”
