Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
A real one. And it’s the “real” part that has my stomach doing Olympic-level gymnastics as I ride the elevator up to the restaurant. The doors open and warm air drifts toward me. The hallway is dim, lit by candles set into the walls.
The hostess greets me with a welcoming smile and leads me through a narrow vestibule. When we step out onto the rooftop, the city opens around us.
It’s stunning.
The rooftop dining area is small—maybe ten tables total—each one spaced far enough apart that conversations feel private. The ceiling is retractable glass, currently open, letting in the cool night air and the sound of the Hudson moving slowly and dark beneath us. Lanterns swing gently from wires overhead, casting warm pools of golden light across slate floors and linen-draped tables.
Far off, the Statue of Liberty glows muted green, and across the river, New Jersey’s skyline twinkles.
The hostess guides me to a table near the edge with two chairs, one candle, and a pair of empty wineglasses next to the silver cutlery. My heartbeat stutters when I see it.
Grizz did not choose this accidentally. This isn’t a place you stumble upon. This is when a guy has a plan and is possibly, if not dangerously, romantic. I lower into my seat, smoothing the skirt of my dress, desperate to calm my nerves.
He’s going so far out of his comfort zone, it means that he actually cares about me… about us. The realization sits warm and bright in my chest.
I let my fingers trace the stem of the wineglass, trying not to smile like an idiot. Every part of this—the exclusivity, the date, the way he looked at me last night—feels like stepping into a story I told myself for years I wasn’t allowed to want.
But tonight…
Tonight is real. It’s terrifying. And also, thrilling.
I exhale, glancing toward the elevator doors as he should be here any minute. And suddenly, everything inside me goes still and alive at once. The elevator doors slide open behind me with a soft metallic sigh.
I hear his footsteps first. As always, they’re confident, unhurried in that way that always feels like he bends the space around him instead of moving through it. Then the low hum of his voice as he checks in with the hostess, that deep timbre that carries even when he’s speaking softly.
I finally look.
Grizz steps into the rooftop glow dressed in a charcoal button-down and dark slacks that fit him unfairly well. His hair is a little damp. Maybe he showered right before coming here. Grizz in the shower – the image doesn’t help me stay calm. He looks good… okay, great. His eyes find mine instantly, and the guard behind his gaze lowers. He walks toward me, hands in his pockets until the last two steps, when one comes out as if he’s considering reaching for something—me?—before he stops himself.
“Hey,” he says.
I smile up at him. “Hey.”
He pulls out the chair across from me and sits, glancing around once before settling into the space. And then, almost offhandedly, he says, “You said once you like places without crowds. Figured this was better than some loud-ass steakhouse.”
My heart kicks because I did say that. That was three weeks ago and he remembered.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual and absolutely failing. “This is… perfect.”
The server arrives to take drink orders and I open my mouth, but Grizz beats me to it. “She’ll have the Gavi,” he says, nodding at the bottle the server is holding.
I blink. “Grizz—”
“You mentioned it at the Bartiz shoot,” he says with a shrug, eyes lowering as he flips the menu open. “Said you liked crisp whites.”
My throat warms. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
He doesn’t look at me when he answers, but his voice is soft. “Contrary to popular belief, I do actually listen to you… occasionally.”
The server pours the wine and leaves us alone again. The candle flickers on our table, warm enough to make the moment feel intimate, and that terrifies me.
I take a sip to steady myself. “So… how’s your sister?”
His eyes lift to mine, for a millisecond like the instinct to reroute is automatic. But instead of shutting down or looking away, he leans back in his chair, exhales, and answers. “She’s hanging in there… trying to manage everything with my dad. It’s a lot for her.”
I nod, careful, gentle. “Is today better than yesterday?”
He rubs his thumb along the edge of his water glass. A grounding motion. “Yeah. She texted earlier. Said he remembered her name this morning. Didn’t remember what city he was in, but… the name thing? That’s something.”
It’s the most unguarded I’ve ever seen him.
“Yes, that’s good and I’m glad your sister is doing better. I can tell you two are very close.”
He watches me for a beat like he’s weighing whether to keep going, then, surprising both of us, he continues. “You know… when we were kids, Eliza used to sneak me out of the house during my dad’s bad moods. Usually to the rink. Sometimes just to the end of the road so we could get some distance from all the shit at home.” He smirks faintly. “She was the tough one, even though everyone thinks that’s me.”