Chapter 20: The Warmth He Gave

Claire smiled, leaning in like she meant to close the last inch between them and then shoved him back at the very last second.

She'd perfected the art of the tease. Keep a man just hungry enough, and he'd stay interested for the long haul.

Lucas, unsurprisingly, wasn't in the mood to let her get away with it.

If she's going to tease, he thought, she can finish what she started.

He caught the back of her head with one hand and kissed her properly this time deep, deliberate, impossible to escape.

His other arm locked around her waist, holding her in place as he took his time with her.

The kiss burned through whatever resistance she'd been putting up, and Claire felt her composure slipping fast.

She gave in, matching him, losing track of everything except the two of them.

His hands wandered, bold and unhurried, and for several long minutes neither of them noticed or cared that they were still in the middle of a restaurant.

They were far too absorbed in each other to notice the waiter who'd approached with their food, only to freeze a few steps away, clearly unsure whether to interrupt.

Lucas, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered, murmuring something low and teasing against her mouth between kisses.

Claire spotted the waiter first. Mortified, her face went scarlet.

She pushed against his chest, breathless, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she whispered, "Stop the waiter's right there."

Lucas glanced over his shoulder, clocked the poor man's expression, and completely unbothered simply pulled Claire in a little closer instead.

The waiter hesitated another beat before gathering his composure and approaching the table anyway.

"Your dishes, sir, madam," he said quietly, setting each plate down with careful precision before offering a polite bow and retreating quickly.

The moment he was gone, Claire pulled back from Lucas's chest, watching the waiter's retreat with lingering embarrassment, then jabbed a finger lightly against Lucas's chest.

"You're terrible, you know that."

His mouth curved into that same wicked smile, his throat working around a quiet laugh.

He looked up at her, still perched in his lap, hands settling comfortably at her waist. "Terrible how?"

Claire's whole face went red straight down to her ears.

Her breathing hitched, and she scrambled off his lap and back into her own seat before things got any further out of hand.

We can't keep doing this, she thought. At this rate we'll never actually eat.

She hadn't expected him to be quite this shameless in public. Point, undeniably, to him.

Do men just have zero sense of shame, she wondered, faintly exasperated, or is it just him?

She turned her attention to the table instead an artful spread of dishes, each one clearly the product of serious culinary craft, plated with the kind of precision that made her stomach growl louder.

"Enough. I'm starving." She picked up her utensils with mock indignation and dug in properly.

Every dish was better than the last each one bright, layered, clearly the work of a kitchen that took seasonality and technique seriously.

There was a delicate shrimp dish finished in a warm rice wine glaze, balancing sweetness against the natural brine of the seafood.

A French-inflected tasting course followed, built around seasonal white truffle and delicate seafood, blending European technique with the finer points of local ingredients each course clearly built for both flavor and presentation.

Claire found herself thoroughly absorbed in the meal.

The oysters that followed were tender and bright, finished with a citrus-forward sauce that cut cleanly through the richness, paired with pickled herbs and thin ribbons of cucumber.

Then came a course of red shrimp and foie gras mousse, finished with caviar sweet and savory playing off each other perfectly, the foie gras rounding out the whole plate.

A citrus-forward jam added brightness, paired with a soft, pillowy brioche that practically melted.

Handmade pasta followed, filled with spinach and ricotta, topped with delicate pickled mussels impossibly tender, balanced with a bright, tangy preserve that lingered pleasantly after each bite.

The seafood course that came after was clearly the table's centerpiece clams, mussels, sweet shrimp, and langoustine, all finished in a bright herb-lemon sauce that tied the whole thing together.

Claire ordered a peach bellini on a whim non-alcoholic, delicately pink, and far more refreshing than she'd expected.

The whole menu, she realized, leaned into bright acidity and seasonal produce rather than the heavier, richer clichés people usually associated with fine dining. It suited her perfectly.

Eventually she was full, though plenty remained on the table more than either of them could reasonably finish.

She glanced at the leftover dishes, then over at Lucas with a playful look. "You done?"

"Mm."

He'd barely touched his own plate, content instead to watch her eat, clearly entertained by how thoroughly she was enjoying herself.

He reached over with a napkin and gently wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth.

"You eat like a kid, you know that?" His voice came out warm, indulgent, far softer than his usual tone.

Something about it caught Claire off guard, a small, unexpected warmth spreading through her chest.

It struck her, briefly, just how easily this man someone she'd known for such a short time had managed to get under her skin.