Steven pulled up to the entrance and a valet stepped forward before he had fully cut the engine.
He stepped out and handed over the key without a word. The valet took it, glanced once at the car, gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement and drove it away smoothly.
Steven straightened his jacket and walked to the entrance.
The door was held open before he reached it.
Inside, the lighting was warm and low, amber and intimate, coming from recessed fixtures above and small candles on every table.
The ceiling was high, with dark exposed beams running across it. The walls were panelled in rich dark wood, broken up by tall mirrors that made the room feel larger without feeling empty. White linen on every table. Fresh flowers, small arrangements, nothing excessive.
The room was full but quiet. Not the quiet of emptiness but the quiet of a space where people were genuinely absorbed in their company and their food.
The front of house manager was already moving toward him.
