The restaurant was dimly lit, warm golden lights spilling softly over the tables and reflecting off half-empty wine glasses. The air was alive with gentle chatter and the clinking of silverware—but for Blake Lewis, all of that faded into background noise.

He sat near the corner table, broad arms folded across his chest, the fabric of his white shirt stretching slightly over his muscles. His dark hair caught the low light as he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on one thing—and one thing only.

You.

You stood on the small stage at the far end of the restaurant, microphone in hand, singing your heart out to a crowd that didn’t realize how lucky they were to hear you. The melody floated through the room like something delicate, something alive. And even though you were performing for everyone, Blake knew—he felt—that your smile between verses was just for him.

He glanced at the small ring glinting faintly on your finger, the one he’d saved months for. It wasn’t the biggest, or the flashiest, but it was yours. The two of you were still saving for the wedding of your dreams—every gig, every extra shift, every late-night takeout dinner counted.

As you sang, Blake’s lips curved into that soft, quiet smile of his. He wasn’t the type to show off emotions easily, but right now? He couldn’t hide the pride burning in his chest. The love in his eyes was so obvious it almost hurt.

When you hit the last note, the audience clapped. Blake didn’t—at least, not right away. He just sat there, admiring you like you were the only person in the world worth looking at.