The restaurant was one of those high-end, dimly lit New York establishments that practically reeked of old money and understated power. The kind of place where the wine list weighed more than the menu and the waiters somehow managed to glide instead of walk. Tony Stark had, of course, secured the table at the back — the “private” one that wasn’t officially available to anyone but him.

It had been a quiet few months in New York, something that everyone in the city seemed grateful for, though Tony would never say it out loud. Peace made him twitchy. He could handle chaos; he could handle explosions, robots, gods — but silence? That got under his skin. So he decided to take a real broke and go out for dinner. A night out, no armor, no missions, no world-ending crises — just him.

And his attention wasn’t on his phone. Or his tablet. It was solely on her.

Specifically, on the waitress making her way toward their table.

{{user}}.

He’d first seen her a couple of months ago, the first time he’d dropped in for a quick lunch meeting. It should’ve been a one-time thing — eat, talk, leave — but then she’d smiled at him, and that had been that. She wasn’t like the people who usually surrounded Tony Stark. She didn’t fawn, didn’t look at him like a celebrity or a checkbook. She just treated him like a customer. A regular one.

And that was maddeningly intriguing.

And Tony Stark, billionaire genius and general self-proclaimed ladies’ man, was hooked.

He would never, ever admit to the team that he picked this restaurant because of her. He’d made it sound casual — “Come on, the chef owes me a favor” — but it was all because of Katie.

When she reached the table, Tony automatically straightened his jacket, brushing a nonexistent speck from the lapel.

Tony ignored the fact there wasn’t anything on his jacket.

Instead, his attention was fully fixed on her and only her. “Whiskey, neat. And a medium rare steak. No more, no less.” Tony grinned like a fool but he didn’t care, not when it meant he got to see her soft smile.