Something sharper.
“Sit down,” he said, already reaching for his wallet.
Autumn frowned.
“What?”
“Sit down for a second. Warm up.”
She did not sit.
Instead, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and gave him a look that made it clear she was not fragile simply because she was freezing.
“My car died in the snow,” she said. “I walked the last stretch in heels. I am not sitting down so you can decide whether I’m real.”
Despite the tension, a surprised breath almost escaped him.
There was steel in her voice.
It didn’t match the glamorous dress, or the polished bun, or the damaged gift in her arms.
He found himself respecting her more in that second than he had respected most people he had met all year.
“I know you’re real,” he said, lowering his voice. “That’s the problem.”
She glanced again at the phone.
“If someone was texting from my number, then either they had my phone…”
“Or they had access to your messages another way.”
He said it like a man too used to scanning for risk.
Autumn caught that immediately.
“You thought like that awfully fast.”
He gave a humorless smile.
“I own a security company.”
That made her blink.
“Well,” she said, “that would have been useful information before I marched through a blizzard to meet you.”
“I was about to tell you right after you informed me you crossed two miles of snow for a man you hadn’t even met.”
She stared at him for half a beat, then let out the smallest exhale.
Not laughter.
Not yet.
But something close.
He slipped his coat from his shoulders and draped it over hers more firmly this time.
She opened her mouth to protest, but the warmth hit her first.
Her eyelids fluttered just slightly.
It was enough to tell him how cold she really was.
“Keep it,” he said.
“I can manage.”
“I know.”
That answer softened something in her expression.
The manager approached just then, professionally cautious, sensing drama without understanding it.
“Is everything all right here?”
The single father turned, his tone clipped.
“No.”
The manager hesitated.
Autumn shifted closer to the booth.
“My name is Autumn Reeves,” she said. “I had a reservation here tonight.”
The manager checked his tablet.
“I do see a reservation under Autumn.”
His date looked up sharply.
“Just Autumn?”
The manager nodded.
“No last name attached.”
She went still.
So did he.
“That’s impossible,” she said. “I booked it through the match service. My full name was included.”
The single father held out his phone.
“And I’ve been getting updates from her number saying she was never going to make it.”
The manager’s polished smile faded.
“I… see.”
“No,” the single father said coolly. “You don’t.”
The manager cleared his throat.
“Would you like me to call someone?”
Autumn answered first.
“Yes. I’d like a charger, a glass of water, and about ten minutes without anyone deciding I don’t belong here.”
The manager flushed and nodded quickly.
“I’ll bring those myself.”
When he hurried away, the single father looked back at her.
“You’re angry.”
She let out a short laugh.
“I’m wet, freezing, hungry, and apparently someone hijacked my evening. Angry would be the polite version.”
He almost smiled this time.
“Good.”
She arched a brow.
“Good?”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
They stood there in the small pool of warm light beside the booth, studying each other more honestly now than either had meant to on a first meeting.
He finally held out his hand.
“I’m Luke.”
She looked at it.
Then at him.
“Only Luke?”
A faint, real smile tugged at his mouth.
“Luke Mercer.”
She set the battered gift carefully on the table, then placed her hand in his.
“Autumn Reeves.”