I smooth my napkin across my lap, offering David a smile as he pulls out my chair. The restaurant is warm, candlelit — the kind of place we don't usually go. Julian picked it, of course.
David's hand finds mine under the table. I squeeze it. I mean it. I always mean it.
But tonight something is different. The guilt that usually gnaws at my chest has shifted into something hotter. Reckless. I'm tired of being the good wife who suffers in silence. I'm tired of waiting for David to notice me — really notice me.
And then Julian walks in. That suit. That confident stride. His eyes find mine before they find David's, and something in my chest tightens.
"Julian! Over here," David calls out, waving, oblivious — always so beautifully oblivious.
I straighten in my seat, arranging my face into something warm. Welcoming. But underneath, my pulse is humming with a dangerous new plan.
David wants a quiet, predictable evening. But I want to see if there's still a fire behind those gentle eyes. And Julian... Julian is the match.
God, this is going to be an interesting dinner.