“I trust you’ll choose wisely,” Miles teased.

Chase thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. I… talk to my dad sometimes. Out loud. In the car. At home. Wherever. I know he’s not there, but it makes me feel like he is.”

Miles’s expression softened, not with pity but with understanding. “That’s not strange at all. I still talk to Daniel sometimes.”

“Your partner?” Chase asked gently.

Miles nodded. “Yeah. Not often. But when I’m lost… or when something good happens… I still tell him. Or when something blows up in my face, I’ll vent to him.”

Chase smiled, small but sincere. “I like that.”

Miles tilted his head. “Your turn. Ask me something.”

Chase hesitated, then went for honesty. “What did you see when you looked at me? Before you came over.”

Miles didn’t look away. “Someone who felt familiar. Someone I wanted to get to know. Someone who made me feel… awake again.”

Chase’s breath caught, but he didn’t look away either. “That’s… a lot.”

Miles smiled. “I don’t do halfway.”

Chase’s smile returned—slow, warm, and real. “Good. I’m tired of halfway.”

And just like that, the space between them shifted again—closer, easier, threaded with something that felt like the beginning of a story neither of them had expected to find tonight.

“Daniel used to criticize me for that. God, I wish he were still here.” Miles said as an afterthought.

“It’s hard when we have to let someone go. No matter how much we prepare. We’re never truly ready.” Chase nodded.

Miles let out a long exhale and blinked slowly. His eyes drifted somewhere far away as he took another sip of wine. He set the glass down, picked up a piece of duck, and chewed with intention—giving himself space to think.

“When they told me my dad had cancer,” Chase continued, “I thought, there’s no way this will get him. He’d been a part of my life… all my life. He supported everything I ever did. When I played football for one season in high school, he was at every game. And when I quit, he supported that too—though he questioned it thoroughly. He didn’t want me giving up just because the newness wore off.”

“Sounds like a good father,” Miles said gently.

“The best.” Chase paused, his voice softening. “And when I came out… he didn’t even flinch. He loved me anyway.”

Miles’s eyes warmed with something like longing. Maybe envy. “That’s amazing. I’m glad you had that.”

“Your parents didn’t accept you as freely?” Chase asked.

Miles lowered his head and let out a short, regretful chuckle. “God, no. My coming out is… complicated. When I told you Daniel and I stayed under the radar, that was mostly true. Neither of us ever officially came out.” He lifted his hands in air quotes. “But I never really hid myself either. I just didn’t discuss it. Eventually it became this… unspoken rule. My family knew not to bring it up. We never talked about anything real, honestly.”

He gestured between them. “This conversation I’m having with you right now. This is the deepest one I’ve had in a very long time. Daniel and I talked, of course, but my parents? Hell no.”

“That’s tough,” Chase said softly.

Miles nodded, then surprised himself by continuing. “You know what’s strange? I didn’t realize how much I missed this—talking like this—until tonight.”

Chase looked up, meeting his eyes. “Me neither.”

Miles tilted his head, studying him with a warmth that felt almost familiar. “Do you ever get that feeling? That you’ve met someone before, even when you know you haven’t?”

“All the time,” Chase said. “But never like this.”

Miles’s smile deepened. “Same.”

They both leaned back at the same moment, mirroring each other without realizing it. Their plates sat cooling, untouched, but neither seemed to care.

Chase rested his elbow on the table. “You know… I didn’t expect to talk about my dad tonight. Or anything real, honestly.”

Miles chuckled. “I didn’t expect to talk about Daniel. Or my parents. Or… well, anything real either.”

“So why did we?” Chase asked.

Miles didn’t hesitate. “Because it felt safe.”

Chase’s breath caught—not from surprise, but from recognition. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It does.”

Miles held his gaze, steady and warm. “I like talking to you, Chase.”

“I like talking to you too.”

A comfortable silence settled between them—soft, warm, the kind that only happens when two people slip into the same emotional rhythm without trying.

Then Miles leaned in just a little, voice low, almost playful. “So… should we actually eat this food before it files a complaint?”

Chase laughed—really laughed—and the tension melted into something easy and bright.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his fork. “Probably a good idea.”

Miles grinned. “See? We’re already making responsible decisions together.”

Chase shook his head, smiling. “God help us.”

And for the first time in a long time—for both of them—the night felt full of possibility.

They made a small effort to eat the rest of their dinner. It was starting to get cold, but they pressed on.

Just then, behind them, the waiter passed by carrying a tray stacked a little too high. His foot caught on the edge of a rug, wobbling dangerously.

Miles’s eyes widened. “No way.”

The waiter recovered at the last second, muttering under his breath as he steadied the tray and hurried off.

Chase smirked. “Give it time.”

Miles stared at him, half impressed, half suspicious. “If he goes down tonight, I’m buying you dessert.”

Chase raised a brow. “And if he doesn’t?”

Miles leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Then you owe me a second date.”

Chase blinked, caught off guard—but the smile that spread across his face was genuine. “So… this is a date?”

Miles smiled big, “Absolutely.”

Chase smiled with squinted eyes and nodded, “Deal.”

“Speaking of dessert.” Miles raised his hand for the waiter who had come back from the kitchen empty handed this time. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Oh, yes.” Chase smiled.

“They have this amazing Triple Chocolate Panna Cotta that’s absolutely to die for.”

“Mr. Whitmore?” the waiter arrived with a bow.

“Two Triple Chocolate Panna Cottas.” Miles ordered.

“Coming right up sir.” The waiter nodded to them and turned to walk away.

Moments later the waiter returned and placed their desserts in front of them.

After the waiter left, Miles picked up his spoon. As the first bite of dessert neared his mouth, he smiled. “If that prediction happens tonight, I guess yours is free.”

Chase only nodded and took a bite of his own, though his eyes flicked toward the kitchen again.

Chase jolted as the waiter pushed through the kitchen doors with a towering stack of plates balanced on his shoulder. He moved with surprising grace—slipping between tables, pivoting around chairs, never missing a beat. For a moment, it looked like he might actually make it.

Miles smirked. “Looks like your psychic streak is—”

But the waiter reached the far end of the room, right where the rug had nearly caught him earlier. Another server crossed in front of him, forcing him to sidestep. His foot slid under the rug’s curled edge.

This time, the rug didn’t give.

His upper body pitched forward. The tray wobbled violently. He tried to compensate, arms flailing, but the weight of the plates dragged him down.

He went sprawling—tray, plates, and dignity all crashing to the floor. His face hit the carpet with a dull thud. Food exploded outward in every direction like culinary shrapnel.

A collective gasp rippled through the restaurant.

Miles froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chase closed his eyes and shook his head slowly—not triumphant, not smug. Something darker flickered across his expression.

Miles turned to him fully now, studying him. “Chase… how did you know that was going to happen?”

Chase swallowed hard. “It’s not what you think.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look thrilled about being right.”

“I’m not.” Chase rubbed the back of his neck, unsettled. “It’s one thing to guess. It’s another to feel it coming like a… like a memory I haven’t lived yet.”

Chase lifted his eyes.

“You okay?”

“You’d think I’d be happy about it,” Chase said, shaking his head. “But I’ve grown to hate it.”

“So… you’re psychic?” Miles asked, genuinely surprised, “Or did you pay the waiter?”

“No. God, no. Nothing like that.”

Miles set his spoon down, giving Chase his full attention. “Alright. Now you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. You’ve most certainly got my attention.”

Chase glanced sideways at him, chin tucked down as if bracing himself. Fear crawled up his throat, but he forced a breath out and shifted in his chair. He looked down at his feet, shaking his head slowly.

“It’s been like this since I was a little boy.”

“What? Being psychic?”

“No! I’m not psychic.”

“Then what was that?” Miles asked, leaning in.

Chase hesitated, searching for words. “Since…” He paused, reconsidering everything. “Since I was a kid, there’s been this… this curse. Or whatever you want to call it. When someone does something against me—anything—” he waved his hands helplessly, “they get it back. Not from me. Not because I want it. It just… happens.”

Miles’s brows drew together, curiosity overtaking skepticism.

“It can be something small,” Chase continued, “like tonight. The waiter being rude. Or something bigger, like a road‑rage thing a few weeks ago. Doesn’t matter what it is. They get back what they give me.”

He pushed his dessert away, disgusted with the situation. “I don’t know what it is. Some weird power, some curse… I don’t know. It’s followed me my whole life. When I was a kid, I didn’t understand it. The boys at school would bully me, and the next day they’d show up with stories about accidents or injuries. Stuff that scared me even then.”

Miles blinked, absorbing that. “Wait… you’re telling me that when someone does something negative to you, they get payback from God?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the moment.

Chase didn’t laugh.

Miles’s smile faded. “You’re serious.”             To be continued... Look for part 5 soon.