Sunday evening settled over the city in a wash of gold and glass as Harley pulled up beneath the restaurant's illuminated canopy.
Valets stepped forward immediately, their uniforms crisp beneath the warm lights reflecting off polished marble pillars and towering glass doors.
Soft piano music drifted faintly into the night air each time the entrance opened.
He stepped out first, handing over the keys without a word before walking around to my side. When he opened the door, I placed my hand in his to steady myself as I stepped out of the car. His fingers were warm. Firm. Familiar.
And then he let go.
We walked toward the entrance side by side, close enough to feel each other's presence, far enough that our shoulders never brushed.
"Good evening, Mr. Huang," the hostess greeted with practiced ease, her eyes flickering briefly to me before returning to him.
Of course. This was his world.
We were led to a window table overlooking the city skyline. Lights shimmered endlessly below us, traffic flowing like distant rivers of white and red.
A waiter poured water and handed us menus before excusing himself. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The quiet wasn't hostile. Just careful.
Harley glanced at his menu briefly before setting it down. "What are you in the mood for?"
I blinked. "You're asking me?"
His gaze lifted to mine. "Shouldn't I?"
There was no edge in his voice. No sarcasm. Just calm. I looked back down at the menu, pretending to focus on the options even though I could feel his attention lingering.
"I'll decide in a minute," I murmured.
He gave a small nod and reached for his glass.
When our food arrived, the soft clink of cutlery filled the space between us. I tried to relax, telling myself it was just dinner. Nothing more.
But every now and then, I felt it. His eyes. Watching. Not obvious. Not intrusive. Just there. When I finally looked up, he didn't look away fast enough.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
He took a sip of his wine as if he hadn't been staring seconds ago.
"You've been doing that all night."
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me."
His jaw shifted slightly. "You're imagining things."
I almost laughed. He was a terrible liar. Which is why I can't understand why it's so hard to read him sometimes?
For a brief second, neither of us looked away. The noise of the restaurant faded into the background. Something familiar flickered between us — something we both recognized but refused to name.
Then he picked up his glass. "How's the food?" he asked casually.
Just like that, the moment dissolved. Silence returned, lighter than before but still unfinished. A shadow fell over our table when we look up I saw a familiar face, smiling.
"Dr. Huo?"
"Mr. Park." I said with a smile. A couple weeks ago, he came into the hospital with his daughter who was complaining about a stomachache. I recalled how flustered he was while his daughter tried her best to keep a straight face.
He smiled warmly. "Amber is doing much better. She hasn't complained about her stomach at all."
Relief softened my shoulders. "That's wonderful."
He extended his hand. I stood to shake it, but instead he lifted my hand gently and pressed a brief, old-fashioned kiss against my knuckles.
It was respectful. Harmless. But the air beside me shifted instantly. Before I could look, Harley stood slowly. The chair scraped lightly against the floor. His hand settled at the small of my back.
My spine stiffened before I could stop it. I glanced at Harley from the corner of my eyes and saw him extending his other hand. "Harley Huang."
Calm. Measured.
Mr. Park's smile faltered slightly in recognition. They shook hands briefly before he excused himself.
As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, the warmth at my back vanished. Harley's hand dropped to his side as if it had never been there.
He returned to his seat without a word.
"You didn't have to do that," I said quietly once I sat down.
"Do what?"
"That."
His jaw tightened. "He crossed a line." He picked up his glass of wine and took a few sips.
"He was being polite."
"He kissed your hand."
I blinked. "And?"
"And I didn't like it."
There it was. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest. From a very young age, Harley never like when another member of the opposite sex get too close to me. Back then it was cute, but now it's just plain annoying.
A slow smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "You can't keep chasing away every man who talks to me."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't chase."
"Oh really?" I leaned back in my chair. "You shattered a glass last night."
"That was different."
"How?"
Silence stretched across the table. He took another sip of his wine instead of answering.
A soft laugh escaped me. "You're unbelievable."
He didn't look at me, but I saw it — the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth as if he were fighting a smile.
For the first time that evening, the tension didn't feel suffocating.
It felt familiar.
Dinner ended quietly. When we both stood, Harley took my coat before I could reach for it. He held it open, and I slipped my arms into the sleeves. His fingers brushed the fabric near my shoulders as he adjusted it into place.
Something inside me softened, and for a brief second, I let it show. His gaze caught mine. No teasing. No cold edge. Just restraint.
He stepped back first.
Outside, the night air wrapped around us as we made our way to the car. He opened the door for me without a word. I got in, and he closed it gently before walking around to the driver's side.
The engine came to life beneath us.
As we pulled away from the restaurant, I noticed something subtle. He wasn't accelerating sharply the way he usually did. He wasn't weaving through traffic.
He drove carefully. Unhurried. As if the road ahead could wait. I didn't comment on it. But I noticed. And somehow, that made my chest feel lighter.
The city lights blurred past the window as silence settled between us once more — not tense, not cold, not awkward.
Just full. Full of things we weren't ready to say. And for now, that was enough.