Chapter 54: Fifty five

Fallon

I spent way too much time getting ready.

Which was ridiculous. This wasn’t a date.

It was dinner — a business transaction wrapped in good intentions and lingering tension. Nothing more.

But that didn’t stop me from changing my dress three times. Or from standing in front of my mirror, second-guessing my lipstick and smoothing my hands over the soft fabric of the midnight blue slip dress I’d finally settled on. It draped just right, the silky material clinging in places I wanted it to and flowing everywhere else.

It wasn’t too much. It wasn’t trying too hard.

But the nerves fluttering in my stomach told me it was still more effort than I should’ve put into a night with a man who barely spoke to me.

It’s just dinner, I told myself. A peace offering. Nothing more.

Still… when I walked downstairs and saw Reid waiting by the door, my breath caught.

He looked good. Unfairly good. The black button-down fit him too well, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms, the top button undone to hint at the sharp lines of his collarbone. Tailored slacks. Polished shoes. The kind of effortless elegance that made my heart do a stupid little flip.

When he glanced up and saw me, his eyes softened.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and warm.

It was the softness that undid me — the way he said it like it wasn’t an observation, but a truth. One he didn’t have to think about.

My throat tightened. “Thank you.”

No snark. No tension. Just… quiet.

And that scared me more than any fight ever had.

The place Reid picked was intimate — all warm, golden light and soft music, the kind of ambiance meant for couples who actually liked each other.

It should’ve felt awkward.

But for once… it didn’t.

We settled into a quiet corner booth, the air between us calm but not uncomfortable. A sommelier poured us wine, and we ordered without too much discussion — a far cry from the way we usually snapped at each other.

The conversation started off safe.

The weather. My latest campaign. His work trip to Switzerland.

And slowly — so slowly I didn’t even notice it happening at first — the walls we’d both built started to crack.

He told me about the deal he was working on. I told him about a sponsorship I was excited for. The conversation flowed easier than it had in weeks — and it felt so… normal.

It made my heart ache.

Because when things were easy between us, it was too easy to wonder why they weren’t always like this.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, the conversation shifted.

Reid set his wine glass down, his fingers trailing along the stem like he was debating something. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he said, his words slow and careful. “In Switzerland. I should’ve told you I was leaving.”

The admission caught me off guard.

I blinked at him, surprised — and maybe a little suspicious.

“You did tell me,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “In a six-word text.”

He winced. “Right.”

I wanted to let it go. I wanted to keep the peace we’d found tonight.

But the question slipped out before I could stop it. “Why didn’t you?”

Reid’s fingers tapped against his glass — an absent, rhythmic movement. His jaw tightened, and for a long moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then — quietly —

“I guess… I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

My stomach twisted, and I set my fork down carefully, my appetite gone. “I’m your wife, Reid,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “Even if this isn’t real… I think that still means something.”

He looked at me then, his eyes darker — something unreadable shifting behind them. “You’re right,” he said after a beat. “And I’m sorry.”

Two apologies in one night.

It felt like a miracle. A bigger miracle cause Reid stepped down from his high horse and actually apologized. Shocking.

But more than that — it felt like the start of something dangerous.

~

The drive home was quiet, but not awkward. The kind of silence that felt like a shared thing instead of a gap between us.

The air in the car was warm, the scent of his cologne filling the space between us. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, but I could feel his presence — the steady calm of him, the occasional flicker of his gaze in my direction.

It felt like we were on the edge of something.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to step closer or pull away.

When we reached the house, neither of us moved to get out right away. The engine cut off, and the soft hush of the night settled around us.

I turned to him first. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For tonight.”

Reid’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Anytime.”

And just like that the fight didn’t feel so big anymore. It felt we had gotten over something that was out to ruin our civil relationship. I was relieved.

But later — long after I’d changed into pajamas and curled up in bed — I could still feel it.

The brush of his hand when he reached for my glass. The warmth of his knee brushing against mine beneath the table. The way his eyes softened when he looked at me, just for a second.

The way my heart raced every time it happened.

And the way it scared me.

Because if one quiet dinner could make me feel like this —

I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to pretend it wasn’t real.