Her fingers were still cold.
He noticed immediately.
He also noticed how small her hand felt in his despite the confidence in the way she held herself.
Neither of them let go quickly enough.
Autumn seemed to notice that too.
She withdrew first and slid into the booth at last, pulling his coat more tightly around her bare shoulders.
The black dress was elegant and daring, but the way she tucked herself beneath the coat suddenly made her look less like an untouchable woman from a rooftop photograph and more like someone who had been fighting to hold herself together all evening.
Luke sat across from her.
Up close, he could see the weariness under her beauty.
Mascara still flawless.
Posture still graceful.
But strain lived in the tiny tension near her mouth.
“You really walked here?”
“My car lost power around the overpass. I waited twenty minutes for roadside assistance, then realized if I kept waiting, I’d miss the reservation.”
“You should have called someone.”
“I did. The line kept dropping.”
He looked at the phone again.
“When did it die?”
“Not long after that. I tried to conserve battery, but the cold finished it.”
“Did anyone stop?”
“One truck slowed down,” she said. “Then kept going.”
Luke’s jaw tightened.
She noticed.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“That isn’t the point.”
Autumn tilted her head.
“What is the point?”
He looked at her directly.
“The point is that you shouldn’t have had to be.”
For the first time since arriving, her expression shifted completely.
The fight in it softened.
She looked away toward the snowy windows strung with Christmas garlands.
Outside, the city lights blurred against the storm.
Inside, the restaurant hummed with clinking glasses and quiet conversations, unaware that at a corner booth something had gone sideways in a way neither of them could yet explain.
The manager returned with water, a charger, and two menus.
He apologized twice.
Autumn accepted the charger.
Luke accepted nothing.
When the manager retreated again, Autumn plugged in her phone and set it beside the gift.
The screen remained black for a few seconds.
Then the charging symbol appeared.
They both watched it as though it might confess.
It finally flickered to life.
Autumn entered her passcode.
A wave of notifications exploded across the screen.
Missed calls.
Repeated app alerts.
And then the messages.
Luke watched her face change as she opened the thread with him.
Her expression moved from confusion to disbelief.
Then to anger.
“There are messages here I never sent,” she said.
“I know.”
“No, I mean entire responses. Specific ones.”
She turned the phone toward him.
He scanned quickly.
At 7:04 p.m., she had apparently written: Still waiting on a tow. Might be easier if we reschedule.
At 7:18 p.m.: Honestly, you can go ahead without me.
At 7:31 p.m.: Not sure this was a good idea anyway.
Luke looked up.
“I got all of those.”
Autumn’s throat moved as she swallowed.
“I didn’t write them.”
“I believe you.”
She studied him carefully.
“You say that very quickly.”
“So do you,” he said.
A pause.
Then her mouth curved just slightly.
“Touche.”
He leaned back.
“Who has access to your phone?”
“No one.”
“Tablet? Laptop? Cloud account?”
“My assistant has calendar access, not message access.”
“Anyone from the matchmaking service?”
“Not unless they hacked something.”
His gaze sharpened.
That answer had hit something.
She saw it.
“What?”
Luke looked down at the table, then back at her.