Phoebe's POV
When we reached the restaurant, the place was completely vacant except for the staff bustling around.
Harold guided me toward a window table in the main dining area. "Perfect view from here. You can take in the scenery while we eat."
I shrugged, not particularly caring about the seating arrangement.
Alistair chose a secluded corner table far from us, practically disappearing into the shadows.
The restaurant team was clearly well-trained professionals.
The moment they spotted Harold, everyone snapped to attention.
They brought out our dishes with precision, then melted away without a sound.
"We've got a full hour. More than enough time," Harold said, placing a chicken drumstick on my plate.
I nodded. "Got it. But Harold, you need to eat too. Stop babying me."
Ever since I'd picked up on his whole "protective dad energy" yesterday, every time he doted on me like this, I felt like some little kid getting spoiled by her father.
