Chapter 8 Hors d’oeuvres are like… foreplay for dinner
From a few steps away, both Lila and Claire exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions saying more than words ever could.
A short while later, coats were collected and the last trays of champagne were carried off. Lila and Claire drifted toward the exit together, their voices low and conspiratorial as they spotted Bryson near the curb.
“You’re heading back uptown, right?” Lila asked her brother, her tone deliberately casual.
He glanced at her, reading the mischief instantly. “Yeah.”
“Perfect,” Lila said with a bright smile. “Claire and I will ride with you. Save us the trouble of getting another car.”
Claire caught on immediately, her grin matching Lila’s. “I like this plan.”
They lingered just outside the doors, waiting.
When Amelia emerged a minute later, her gown trailing over the marble, she slowed at the sight of them — Bryson standing with the two women, all three clearly waiting for her.
“Are you… riding with him?” she asked, her brows lifting.
“My car’s coming around,” Amelia added quickly. “Ben can drop you both off.”
Lila and Claire exchanged a look, the kind that didn’t need words.
“Oh, come on,” Claire said lightly. “We’ll just go together. One car, less hassle.”
Amelia hesitated, but Lila’s grin was unshakable. “It makes sense. And besides, I promise not to talk business the whole ride.”
Under their combined persuasion, Amelia sighed and finally nodded. “Alright. But only because I’m too tired to argue.”
She pulled her phone from her clutch and called Ben.
“Hey, Ben. You can head home,” she said once he picked up. “I’ve got a ride tonight.”
“Alright, Mrs. Pierce. Have a good evening,” he said, his tone warm but professional.
She exhaled lightly. “Ben, I’ve asked you not to call me that. Amelia is fine.”
There was a small pause on the other end before he answered, “Of course. Good evening, Amelia.”
She ended the call and tucked the phone away just as the back passanger doors opened. Bryson was there, holding them for Lila and Claire. His Porsche Taycan — sleek, deep graphite — idled at the curb, headlights casting a soft glow along the wet street.
The night air felt cooler in the pause that followed. Bryson stood just a few feet away, one hand on the car door, his gaze flicking toward her. He didn’t speak, but the way his eyes lingered said enough — he’d caught the correction, and he approved.
Lila leaned against the fender, brows arching in faint surprise before smoothing into a look that was almost proud. Claire crossed her arms, lips curving into a small, satisfied smile, like she’d been waiting for Amelia to say those words out loud.
The moment passed quickly, but Amelia felt it echo in the quiet between them — a tiny fracture in the name Carl still thought bound her..
Without a word, Bryson walked ahead and opened the passenger-side door.
Amelia paused mid-step, glancing toward Lila, expecting her to claim the front seat.
“Oh no,” Lila said immediately, her grin wicked. “You’re in the front, darling.”
“Absolutely,” Claire added with a mock-serious nod. “It’s your night, and besides, I’m not sitting up there making polite conversation when I could be in the back with champagne and gossip.”
Amelia laughed, shaking her head. “I think I’m being set up.”
“Definitely,” Lila said sweetly, giving her a little nudge forward.
Bryson stood there patiently, one hand on the door, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady on her. With a resigned smile, Amelia slid gracefully into the passenger seat, the leather cool against her legs.
“Smart choice,” Lila called as she and Claire climbed into the back. “You’re in charge of the music.”
Bryson closed the door after her before circling to the driver’s side, the quiet hum of the Taycan filling the momentary silence.
As soon as the Taycan eased away from the curb, Claire leaned forward between the seats.
“So,” she announced, “we’re starving.”
“Starving,” Lila echoed with mock desperation. “We should stop at Louie’s Diner uptown. Best pancakes at midnight.”
Bryson’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “Louie’s?” He glanced toward Amelia in the passenger seat. “What do you think?”
Amelia arched a brow, looking over her shoulder at the two women. “You do realize there was an entire buffet at the gala, right? How much food can you possibly eat?”
“Gala food doesn’t count,” Claire said solemnly. “It’s all tiny portions and puff pastry air. You need something real after.”
“Exactly,” Lila said, tapping Amelia’s shoulder. “Gala hors d’oeuvres are like… foreplay for dinner.”
Amelia laughed, shaking her head. “I see you’ve thought this through.”
“We’re professionals,” Claire said with a grin.
The banter filled the car, easy and light, but underneath, something quieter hummed between Amelia and Bryson — an unspoken awareness. At a red light, he glanced sideways at her.
“You cold?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she felt the chill on her bare shoulders.
“I can turn up the heat,” he offered, reaching for the console. “Or the seat heat.”
From the back seat, Lila smirked. “Smooth, Bry. Real smooth. Offer a woman warmth and luxury leather — works every time.”
Bryson gave his sister a dry look in the mirror. “Or maybe I’m just being polite.”
“Sure,” Lila teased, leaning back with a satisfied smile.
He pressed a button, and warmth began to seep through the leather beneath Amelia. Then, without much thought, he picked up his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to her.
“Pick something,” he said.
She took it, her fingers brushing his — a faint spark in the small space between them. She caught a glimpse of the code as he typed it in. Not the kind of random numbers people forget, but something deliberate, personal. She didn’t comment, though her mind stored it away without meaning to.
“You’re giving me the aux?” she asked, scrolling through his playlists.
“Temporarily,” he said, eyes on the road. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Depends,” she murmured, lips curving. “What’s your policy on guilty pleasures?”
From the back, Claire groaned. “If you put on anything depressing, I’m hijacking this operation.”
Amelia’s fingers hovered over a song. “Guess I’d better keep the passengers happy.”
The road stretched ahead, city lights flickering past the windows as the car filled with low, warm music — and something else unspoken.
Louie’s Diner was the kind of place that looked like it hadn’t changed in fifty years — chrome trim, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox in the corner that still worked if you fed it quarters.
Bryson parked right out front, the hum of the Taycan fading as the girls piled out. Claire and Lila headed inside immediately, claiming the booth closest to the window. Amelia lingered for a second, smoothing the skirt of her gown as Bryson came around the car and held the door for her.
“You sure about this?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the glowing neon Louie’s.
“They’ve already decided,” she said with a small smile. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Inside, the air smelled of coffee and fried potatoes. The laminated menus were sticky from years of use, but Lila and Claire didn’t even look at them.
“Two pancake stacks,” Claire told the waitress before she could say hello. “Extra butter.”
“And the late-night special,” Lila added. “With hash browns and bacon. Oh, and more coffee.”
The waitress scribbled without blinking, then turned to Amelia.
“I’ll just have tea,” Amelia said, still full from the gala.
Bryson slid in beside her before she could protest, the booth forcing them closer than the car had. “Coffee for me,” he said, handing over the menu without looking at it.
Claire leaned forward over her elbows. “So… has Carl called? Or at least given an explanation for why he said he’d be there and didn’t show?”
The waitress reappeared, setting down a fresh pot of coffee and Amelia’s tea before slipping away again.
Amelia stirred her tea slowly. “No call. No explanation.”
“Typical,” Claire muttered, rolling her eyes.
Lila arched a brow. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“There isn’t,” Amelia said lightly. “He was busy. That’s all.”
Bryson’s gaze flicked to her, curious but quiet. “Busy’s one thing,” he said after a moment. “Not showing up without a word is another.”
Claire grinned, sensing an opening to poke fun. “And you just happened to walk into the deli earlier? Pure coincidence, huh?”
Bryson’s mouth curved slightly. “Maybe I was just in the mood for the best roast beef in the city.”
Lila groaned. “Oh no, don’t encourage him, Claire. He’s been saying that for years, and now he’s going to think it’s fate.”
The waitress returned with the food and the conversation shifted — gala details, upcoming charity events, a few names they all knew in common. pancakes steaming, hash browns crisp.
It was easygoing, full of laughter and small teases, but every so often Bryson’s gaze lingered on Amelia — on the way she tilted her head when she listened, how her fingers wrapped around the tea mug, the glint of her earrings in the diner’s warm light. And each time, Amelia felt it, even without looking up.