The restaurant doors swung open, and the cool night air met us as we stepped outside. The warmth of the evening lingered in the air, the city lights flickering in the distance. She walked beside me, close but not quite touching, the kind of closeness that came with uncertainty.

Then, as expected, the moment was interrupted.

A group of fans noticed me, their voices filled with excitement as they approached. I felt her shift, stepping slightly to the side as I turned toward them with a practiced smile. I signed autographs, took photos, exchanged brief words of gratitude. It was routine, something I was used to, but tonight, for some reason, I was aware of her presence just a few steps away, waiting.

One of the fans hesitated, glancing toward her before turning back to me. "Sorry, mate, we didn’t mean to interrupt your date."

I grinned, shaking my head. "No worries. She understands."

She did. She always did. That was part of why this worked—why we worked, even if we hadn’t put a name to it yet.

I took one last picture, exchanged a few goodbyes, and turned back to her. But this time, I did something different. I closed the space between us, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. It wasn’t calculated, wasn’t for show. It was instinct.

She stiffened for the briefest moment before relaxing into it, tilting her head slightly toward me. When I pulled back, I found her eyes on mine, searching, questioning, but not pulling away.

A slow smile tugged at my lips as I held her there. "Come on," I murmured, voice just for her. "Let’s go home."