Burbank at night wasn't Paris or Monaco, but it had its own charm. Neon signs hummed lazily above storefronts, the air smelled faintly of jasmine and car exhaust, and the quiet buzz of conversation drifted out from the sidewalk café where I was waiting.
I checked my watch, then immediately regretted it. Smooth, Carmichael. Nothing says confidence like staring at the time every thirty seconds.
Then she appeared.
Stephanie Barnett. Hair loose from her hospital shift, blazer over a simple dress, heels clicking softly on the pavement. She wasn't trying to impress; she didn't need to. She carried herself with the quiet poise of someone who knew her worth.
"Hey," she said, smiling as she spotted me. "I hope I'm not late. The ER was… well, the ER."
"Not late at all," I said, standing to pull out her chair. "And hey, I'm just glad you're not still wearing scrubs. Makes me feel underdressed."
She laughed, the sound easing the knot in my stomach.
Dinner was easy. Easier than I'd expected.
We talked about everything — her residency, her love for surgery ("It's like solving a puzzle, only the stakes are life and death"), my think tank ("We… solve puzzles too, but less life-and-death, more equations and logistics").
She teased me for being vague. I dodged the details with practiced charm. Carmichael would be proud.
At one point, she leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "You know, Chuck, you don't seem like the kind of guy who runs a think tank."
"Oh? What kind of guy do I seem like?"
She tilted her head, studying me. "Like someone who'd rather fix my laptop for free than bill a Fortune 500 company."
I chuckled. "You're not wrong."
Halfway through dessert, my phone buzzed. Agency line. My heart spiked, but I silenced it with a thumb swipe under the table. Tonight wasn't about Carmichael. Tonight was about Chuck.
Stephanie noticed but didn't press. Instead, she sipped her wine and asked about Ellie.
"You're really close with your sister, huh?"
"Yeah," I said softly. "She practically raised me after my dad left. She's… everything."
"That explains it," Stephanie said with a smile.
"Explains what?"
"You. You've got this… grounded thing about you. Like no matter what happens, you know who you are."
For a second, I didn't know what to say. Because the truth was, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. Chuck? Carmichael? Both?
But I smiled anyway. "Thanks. That means a lot."
After dinner, we walked together under the soft glow of the streetlights. She brushed her hand against mine, and for a moment, the world shrank down to just us.
At her car, she turned, hesitating just long enough for me to catch it. Then she leaned in, kissed me softly, and pulled back with a shy smile.
"Tonight was great," she said.
"Yeah," I breathed. "It really was."
As she drove away, I stood there grinning like an idiot. For the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe I could have this — something normal, something real.
At least for now.