We sat at a small, candlelit table near the edge of the terrace. The waiter approached, handing us the menus. I opened mine, scanning the French options, but before I could decide, Killian closed his menu and smoothly ordered my absolute favorite dish, along with the exact dessert I loved.When the food arrived, the nervous tension between us began to melt into something warm and personal. We didn't talk about the past or the trauma. We just talked like two people on a date.At one point, he reached across the table with his fork. Without saying a word, he carefully moved a piece of garnish off my plate that he knew I didn't like, and quietly placed a perfectly cooked piece of prawn onto my dish instead. It was such a small, instinctual gesture, but it made my chest ache with how much he still remembered."What is your favorite part of the day?" Killian asked, resting his arm on the table, his gray eyes completely focused on me.I smiled, tracing the edge of my wine glass. "Opening the
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