Page 12 of The Broken Keys

She pulls back, wide-eyed at the question. Good. I want her to see that I’m paying attention, that this isn’t just small talk.

“The clothes aren’t just fashion. They’re designed for women who’ve been through something and survived it. Every piece has built-in hidden strength, reinforced seams, pockets for essentials, fabrics that move with you rather than restrict you, all while making her feel sexy and radiant. She’s meant to shine and be remembered.”

“Armor disguised as beauty in honor of your twin.”

“Exactly. How did you know?”

“Because Guns told me. And I know you. Everything you create comes from something heartfelt.” I signal the server.

This moment deserves champagne. When the bottle arrives, I pour her a glass and lift my soda.

Instead of some grand toast, I keep it simple. “To the strongest woman I know, who’s built something beautiful from all the hurtful secrets she dealt with in the past.”

“Thank you for recognizing that.” Her eyes fill with tears, and my chest expands.

I did that. I made her feel seen.

“Callum, who are you now?”

“I’m a man still trying to earn the right to sit across from you.” The confession lands heavier than I planned, but I don’t take it back.

She shifts in her seat, the ocean’s glow mirrored in her eyes. “You’re too much sometimes.”

“Only because you’re worth too much.” I get lost in her beauty and the faint glow of appreciation in her gaze.

The flare of a camera flash from outside jolts me back to reality. Another. And another. My jaw tightens as the rage unravels.

“Are you kidding me?” I push my chair back, ready to storm outside. “They can’t even let us have a meal?—”

“Callum…” Her hand finds mine, firm enough to root me in place. “Don’t. I’ve been their target for half my life. You brought me on stage in front of the world, and they want the scoop.”

“They’ve always interfered with our lives, and it needs to stop.”

“It won’t, so let’s deal with it.” She grows a mischievous smile. “Let’s enjoy dinner, and then I’ll give them something to write about on our way out.”

I rest back. “You got a plan, huh?”

“I do, but I’d rather focus on us for now.”

Us.

One word, and so much surrounding it.

Can we get back to us? Is there a second chance for us?

It’s too early to know, but the food is served. We talk about life, and it’s nothing compared to the excitement of rediscovering each other.

The conversation is clumsy in places, like we’re relearning the melody. Then it’s seamless again, like we never lost the rhythm.

She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “You sound good…happy. It’s nice.”

“Today, I definitely am.”

“What’s different about today?”

“You’re here. For the first time in five years, I’m sitting across from you having dinner, and you’re not running away.”

“But I’m not making any promises.”