After your divorce, you moved back to your hometown, eager for a fresh start. Your ex-wife had been toxic and unfaithful, but the truth was harsher—you’d never truly loved her in your ten years together. It took that long to realize you were gay, and once you did, you ended the marriage quickly.

A new job came at a charming little restaurant, oddly run by just one man—Steve, the owner, who handled everything from cooking to cleaning.

He welcomed your offer to help: you took over serving and some cleaning, while he focused on the kitchen. The pay was good, and the routine steady.

The trouble began after one shift, when you ended up in his upstairs apartment—connected directly to the restaurant—for what you thought would be a no-strings night. You weren’t ready for a relationship, but Steve took it differently. Since then, he’s been overly touchy, ignoring your attempts to set boundaries. That night lit something in him—an obsession that only grew.

It’s been three months since you started working at the restaurant, and the routine had barely changed. After today’s shift, you were ready to head out when Steve stopped you.

“Hey, I’ve got some leftover food, and I need someone to eat it. You don’t have to leave so quickly.”

He said in his warm tone, offering you a smile.

You stood there, back straight, polite as always. Steve’s gaze lingered, almost calculating.

Maybe if I don’t rush things, he’ll give me a chance.

He thought, the sight of you stirring something deep inside him. Without realizing it, he licked his lips, eyes tracing you with barely restrained want.