‘This is good,’ he said.
That was enough to unclench the tight pull behind my ribs.
Then he held out his wrist. ‘Put it on for me?’
He yanked off the one he’d been wearing and chucked it over the dashboard.
I pinched the new strap between my fingers and fastened it slowly, adjusting the clasp so it sat flat against his skin.
The strap was matte black.
The contrast was sharp.
My hand paused just a second longer than it needed to.
The second hand ticked forward with a clean, crisp rhythm.
‘I like it,’ he delivered his verdict.
My stomach growled. Loud enough to interrupt us both.
I looked away, embarrassed. ‘Bit hungry. Let’s eat. I know a place with decent seafood. You’ll like it.’
He nodded. ‘Alright.’
We pulled away from the Laurent estate and headed downhill, tyres tracing the edge of the winding road.
I insisted on driving. Told him he didn’t know the way.
Which was technically true, but mostly I just didn’t want him gripping a steering wheel while still running on adrenaline.
He’d flipped a table twenty minutes ago. That kind of rage didn’t dissolve with a car ride and a polite gift exchange.
I needed him still for a bit.
The city crept closer, and the streetlights started catching on the dashboard.
The place I had in mind wasn’t far.
I parked outside a row of rundown buildings with rusted shutters and faded signs.
‘It’s in that alley,’ I said, pointing between two cracked walls. ‘Looks dodgy, but the food’s worth it.’
Ashton looked down the alley. The car definitely wouldn’t fit.
‘It used to be wider,’ I said quickly. ‘You could drive in before, but the hospital’s building some new wing or whatever, and now half the road’s blocked. We’ll have to walk the rest.’
He stared at the barricades.
I scratched the back of my neck.
‘We can go somewhere else if you want.’
‘No need.’ He started walking. ‘You said the food’s good. I’ll take your word for it.’
Neon signs flickered above narrow doors—hotpot, ceviche, oyster bars crammed together.
Most had a few tables.
People were eating fast and loud, steam rolling out the doorways.
My place had six tables, all filled except one in the back corner.
I turned around and saw him still at the entrance, scanning everything—walls, ceiling, floor.
‘The owner’s obsessed with cleaning,’ I said, fast. ‘They bleach the floors twice a day.’
He stepped in and slid into the seat by the wall. ‘It’s fine. Looks clean.’
‘As long as you’re not horrified.’ I waved at the kitchen. ‘Two seafood platters, please!’
‘You got it!’ the owner yelled back. He spotted me and grinned. ‘Long time no see, Mirabelle.’
Then he vanished back into the kitchen.
Ashton glanced around again.
The walls were lined with cheap wooden panels painted seafoam green.
Fishing nets were nailed up for decoration, and a dusty life preserver hung over the drinks fridge.
A row of plastic crabs was glued to the ceiling.
I leaned forward. ‘It’s tiny and completely out of the way, but the food’s worth it. Trust me, you’ll regret it if you skip it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You come here often?’
‘Not really. Once in a while when I’m craving seafood. I used to come more, but then I moved overseas.’
He opened his mouth like he was about to ask something else, but the owner showed up just then, carrying two trays stacked with crab legs, prawns, clams, scallops—steaming, glazed with garlic butter and lemon wedges.
He put on a pair of disposable gloves, picked up a prawn, peeled it fast, and passed it to me.
I took it, shoved it in my mouth before he could change his mind.
He ate, eyes lifting every few seconds to check on me.
‘You’re inhaling it,’ he said under his breath.
‘It’s seafood. It’s not meant to sit around.’ I reached for another crab leg.
He watched me, chewing with a half-smile that made it clear he found the whole thing mildly ridiculous.
By the time we got up to leave, it was snowing.
Thick flakes covered the pavement and caught in Ashton’s hair as we stepped outside.
I hissed at the wind.
The owner came jogging out with an umbrella. ‘Here, take this. You’ll be drenched in five minutes without it.’
‘Thanks,’ Ashton said, taking it from him. He opened it and held it over my head.
The thing was barely wide enough for one person, so we ended up shoulder to shoulder, pressed close.
His coat brushed my arm with every step.
The street was quiet except for our boots crunching over snow.
Cold air stung my face.
My fingers brushed his as we walked.
His hand was warm. Mine wasn’t.
I shifted closer. The next time our hands touched, he caught mine.
The alley wasn’t long, but we took our time.
Snow kept falling. Streetlights blinked through the white.
Just before we reached the end of the block, he leaned in and said quietly, ‘Do you want to give it a shot?’
He glanced down at me. ‘Liking me. Us. A relationship. A real one. Can I ask you to try?’
I turned to look at him. His eyes were steady, open.
The light from the storefronts didn’t reach this far, but I could see him clearly.
Just him. Just us, under the umbrella.
Behind him, snow kept falling, thick and endless.
My pulse spiked. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel⚑fire.net
I kept seeing him in the car, how tightly he’d held me, how his voice had cracked like he couldn’t get it under control.
I’d brought him here because I wanted to share something that made me happy, hoping it would make him happy, too.
It wasn’t much, just a small thing, but it was all I had to offer.