The chocolate soufflé arrived like a small miracle—risen perfectly, dusted with powdered sugar, accompanied by a drizzle of crème anglaise that the waiter poured with ceremonial precision, like he was baptizing it into the Church of Diabetes.
Charlotte made a sound that was borderline criminal when she took the first bite.
"Good?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I would commit crimes for this. Serious crimes. Felonies."
"I'll remember that next time I need an alibi."
She laughed, already going back for another bite. The kiss tension had melted out of her completely now. Her shoulders were relaxed. Her smile came easy.
She looked younger somehow—like the weight of being Charlotte Thompson, CEO, had been lifted for one blessed evening. Like she'd temporarily escaped whatever corporate hellscape required her to smile at people who looked like they still used Yahoo Mail.
I felt her before I saw her.
