Chapter 4 The dinner that wasn't
Ethan stood by the door, holding his keys, his face tight with worry he tried to mask as anger.
“So, you’re really going to meet him?” he asked.
I kept my back to him, pretending to tidy the kitchen counter that was already spotless. “It’s just dinner, Ethan. I have to explain what happened. I don’t want him thinking I sent that message on purpose.”
“That’s exactly what he’s thinking,” Ethan snapped. “You think a man like Adrian Cole invites an employee to dinner out of concern for her reputation?”
I turned then, my throat dry. “You don’t know that.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “No, but I know men like him.”
The silence that followed stung more than his words. I hated that he wasn’t wrong. I hated that I didn’t have a better explanation.
Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do what you want, Lila. But don’t expect me to pretend it’s okay.”
He left before I could reply. The sound of the door closing felt final, like something breaking quietly inside me.
The rest of the day moved in fragments.
I tried to distract myself, folding laundry, checking emails, even watering the plant by my window that was already dying but my mind kept circling back to that one thing: 7 PM, don’t be late.
I told myself I was going only to fix the misunderstanding, to show professionalism. Still, part of me knew it wasn’t just that.
There was curiosity too about Adrian’s cryptic reply, about the way his tone had changed since that message.
When the clock struck six, I gave in.
I stood in front of the mirror, unsure who I was dressing for. My reflection looked nervous, guilty, maybe even a little desperate. I wore a simple black dress too elegant for dinner with my boss, too modest for anything else. I told myself it was neutral. Safe.
By the time I got to the restaurant, dusk had already painted the sky in fading gold. The rooftop restaurant glimmered under soft lights, the kind of place meant for celebrations, not explanations.
A waiter approached with a polite smile. “Table for two, reservation under Mr. Cole?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice smaller than I intended.
He led me to a private corner with a view of the city skyline. Two wine glasses. Two plates. Only one chair filled.
I sat.
And waited.
Seven fifteen.
Seven thirty.
I checked my phone twice no messages. My stomach churned, half from nerves, half from humiliation. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe this was his way of punishing me making me wait like an idiot for something that was never going to happen.
By eight, I’d refilled my glass of water three times. The waiter came by with an apologetic smile. “Would you like to order while waiting, ma’am?”
“No, I’ll… I’ll wait a little longer.”
He nodded and left.
I looked around. Couples laughed softly at nearby tables. The air smelled like perfume and expensive wine. Everyone here belonged—except me.
My phone stayed silent, the screen blank, mocking me.
By eight thirty, my patience cracked. I took my clutch, stood, and muttered under my breath, “You really are a fool, .”
The waiter approached cautiously. “Ma’am, should I bring the check?”
I nodded. My voice wouldn’t have worked anyway.
When I signed the bill, my hand trembled. Adrian Cole’s name still stood at the top of the reservation. For a moment, I wondered if this had been deliberate. Maybe he’d known I’d come. Maybe he’d wanted me to be seen.
But why?
I was halfway to the exit when I froze.
There by the doorway stood Ethan.
---
For a second, I thought I was imagining him. His dark blue shirt, the one I bought him last Christmas. The disbelief in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched when our gazes met.
My whole body went cold.
He walked toward me slowly, like someone approaching a crime scene. His voice, when it came, was calm but that calm was worse than shouting.
“So you came anyway.”
“Ethan—”
“I thought maybe you’d listen,” he continued, cutting me off. “That maybe, for once, you’d put us before your job.”
“I wasn’t this isn’t what it looks like,” I said quickly, words tumbling over themselves. “He didn’t even show up. I swear, I just came to...”
He laughed, low and tired. “To what? Prove a point? Or wait around hoping he’d notice you?”
The sting of his words burned, but I didn’t blame him. How could I, when I barely understood my own reasons for being there?
I reached for his hand, but he stepped back.
“Lila, I told you I couldn’t trust that man. But now…” His voice faltered. “Now I’m not sure I can trust you.”
My chest tightened. “Don’t say that. Please, Ethan, it’s not what you think. I just wanted to clear the air so nothing ruins my job—our future—”
He shook his head. “Our future doesn’t exist if this is what it looks like.”
He turned and started walking away.
“Ethan!” I called out, but he didn’t stop.
People were staring now. I could feel their eyes following me, whispering judgments I didn’t want to hear. My throat felt tight, but no tears came just the hollow ache of realizing something had cracked between us, something I wasn’t sure I could fix.
I wanted to run after him but I have known Ethan too well that I just had to leave him alone for now.
Outside, the night air was cool. I wrapped my arms around myself and started walking, aimless, through the busy street.
Every step echoed Ethan’s words: I’m not sure I can trust you.
Trust. That word used to mean something solid between us. Now it felt like glass already broken, too sharp to touch.
