“You have another date?” Miles teased, lifting his fork.

Chase blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… heavens no. Definitely not.”

But Miles kept watching him—watching the way Chase’s gaze drifted to his watch again, the way his shoulders tightened.

“See that waiter?” Chase asked finally, grasping for an explanation he couldn’t actually give.

“Yeah.” Miles followed his line of sight, then looked back at him.

“He’s going to trip and fall flat on his face before the night is through,” Chase said, the words landing with a weary inevitability.

Miles smiled, amused. “And how do you know that?”

“That’s a long story.” Chase tapped his watch again, as if confirming something. His shoulders down.

“Alright,” Miles said, still doubtful but entertained.

Miles studied him for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You always make bold predictions at dinner?”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Chase replied, trying to sound confident but failing to hide worry in his face.

Miles leaned in a little, elbows resting on the table. “So, what is it? Psychic powers? Insider information? Or are you just hoping the universe gives you a win tonight?”

Chase grinned. “Let’s call it… an educated guess.”

Miles let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “You’re impossible.” His curiosity flickered, but he pushed it aside as nothing more than a strange moment. 

Chase swallowed. “What was your serious question?”

“Right.” Miles’s eyes softened, though the intensity behind them didn’t fade. “Tell me… why are you alone on Christmas?”

Chase straightened his plate, buying himself a second before answering. He wrapped his fingers around his fork. “That’s a long story.”

“You must have quite a few of those… ‘long stories’.” Miles smiled.

Chase cleared his throat, “The abridged version is… my dad was sick for the last three years. He needed someone with him pretty much all the time. There’s no other family left, so it fell on me.” He picked up his knife and began cutting his steak with slow, deliberate motions.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How’s he doing now?” Miles asked gently as he sliced into his duck.

“He passed away a couple months ago.” Chase lifted a piece of steak to his mouth. “It’s taken me a while to adjust to the quiet. And I guess I haven’t been ready for a relationship yet.”

Miles set his fork down, his expression shifting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you talk about that.”

Chase shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m… getting better at saying it out loud.”

Miles watched him for a moment—really watched him—his gaze steady, thoughtful, almost protective.

“You must have loved him a lot,” Miles said softly.

Chase blinked, surprised by the simplicity of the statement. “Yes. I did.”

“And he was lucky,” Miles added. “Most people don’t get someone willing to give up years of their life to take care of them.”

Chase felt something warm press against the back of his throat. He cleared it quickly and reached for his water.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” he said.

Miles tilted his head. “You always have a choice.”

Chase looked down at his plate, unsure how to respond to that.

Miles continued, his voice quieter now. “You chose to stay. You chose to show up. That says something about you.”

Chase’s chest tightened—not painfully, but in a way that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t expected tonight.

“You’re a good person. I can tell.” Miles insisted.

Chase was doubtful, “I don’t know about that.” He set his fork down. “What about you? Why are you alone on Christmas Eve?”

Miles let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “Because somewhere along the way, I got very good at building an empire… and very bad at building a life.”

Chase’s eyes lifted. “I mean, you own the largest company in the state. Don’t you have people for that?”

“Yes… well…” Miles gestured with his fork, a mound of potato balanced on it. “The unfortunate thing about running a large corporation is that if you leave people unsupervised, things fall apart.”

“Don’t they say a manager is only as good as the people he puts in charge when he’s away?” Chase asked, leveling his fork before taking a bite.

“Touche,” Miles said, grinning as he chomped down.

Chase took another sip of wine. “You know that word originated in fencing. It was used to acknowledge a good hit. Means ‘to be touched.’”

“Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve been touched, so I guess I need a different term.” He snickered, and the unexpected honesty pulled a warm chuckle from Chase.

Miles gave a small, self‑deprecating smile. “Tonight was supposed to be another lonely dinner. And then you launched a steak across the restaurant.”

Chase groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Please don’t remind me.”

Miles laughed softly. “I’m glad you did.”

Chase peeked at him through his fingers. “You’re glad I humiliated myself?”

“I’m glad,” Miles said, leaning forward again, “because it made me look at you. And once I did… I couldn’t stop.”

Chase’s breath caught.

The air between them shifted—warmer, closer, charged with something neither of them had expected.

“What brings you to this particular place?” Chase asked, still warm from Miles’ words.

Miles shifted, his gaze drifting around the room before settling somewhere far beyond it. “I used to come here with someone,” he said quietly. “A former… friend. We were dating but keeping things under the radar back then. He loved this place. Got me coming here at least once a month. Food’s good. Service is fine. Atmosphere’s great.” He paused, exhaling. “But mostly, I come here when I feel lost. Or alone. I almost feel him here. It recenters me.”

Chase’s fork slowed. “I’m sorry. How long were you two together?”

“Five years.” Miles’s voice softened, almost reverent. “It was young love. We stayed hidden most of the time. I kept telling him everyone already knew, but he wouldn’t hear it. He was tied up in his family’s expectations… their religion. He was happy with me, but miserable underneath it all. His family made sure of that.” Miles shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “But I loved him. He was my… everything. We were never apart. Finished each other’s sentences. Felt each other’s moods. It was like being twins. If he hurt, I hurt.”

Chase set his fork down, leaning in without even realizing it. “That sounds… intense. And beautiful.”

“It was both,” Miles admitted. “And when he died, it felt like someone had unplugged the world. But to be honest, we didn't have time to really get to know each other much. He was gone so fast.”

Chase nodded slowly. “I get that. Losing someone who’s woven into you like that… it changes the shape of everything.”

Miles looked up, surprised by the understanding in Chase’s voice. “Yeah. Exactly.”

A small silence settled between them—not heavy but shared. Comfortable. Like they’d stepped into the same emotional room without meaning to.

Chase took a sip of wine. “You know… it’s strange. I’ve only known you for what... an hour? And it feels like we’ve been talking for years.”

Miles’s smile warmed, genuine and unguarded. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Chase laughed softly. “Maybe it’s the trauma bond of my steak trying to escape.”

Miles chuckled. “Or maybe,” he said, tilting his head, “some people just fit.”

Chase felt something flutter in his chest—light, unexpected, almost frightening in its gentleness. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe they do.”

Miles leaned forward, elbows on the table again, but this time the gesture wasn’t intense—it was familiar, easy. “Can I tell you something without you thinking I’m insane?”

“Given how tonight started,” Chase said, “I think you’re safe.”

Miles grinned. “Fair point.” Then, softer: “When I saw you sitting there… I don’t know. Something in me just said, Go to him. Like I’d regret it if I didn’t. It was like he was insisting.”

They sat in silence for so long that Miles began to worry he’d said too much, pushed too far, or somehow scared Chase off.

“I argued with myself the whole time I sat here watching you do acrobatics with your food,” Miles finally said, breaking the quiet with a soft laugh. “I thought, I’ve got to introduce myself to anyone who plays with his food like that.”

Chase blinked, then let out a surprised chuckle—stunned by the honesty, charmed by the humor. His smile lingered before slowly softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. “I’m… really glad you did.”

Miles’s eyes warmed, relief flickering across his face. “Me too.”

Their plates sat forgotten as they simply looked at each other—two strangers who suddenly didn’t feel like strangers at all.

Chase leaned back slightly, exhaling as if settling into something he didn’t realize he’d been holding himself away from. “You know,” he said, voice gentler now, “I can’t remember the last time I felt this… at ease with someone.”

Miles’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How some people just… click.”

“Yeah,” Chase murmured. “Like we skipped the awkward getting‑to‑know‑you part and jumped straight into the middle.”

Miles nodded. “Feels like picking up a conversation we started years ago.”

Chase laughed softly. “Exactly.”

Miles rested his forearms on the table, leaning in—not intensely this time, but comfortably, like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Tell me something you don’t usually tell people on a first meeting.”

Chase raised a brow. “That’s a dangerous request.”