The hallway outside the restroom felt impossibly still, the soft click of the door closing behind her echoing louder than it should. Catherine leaned against the cool wall, heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst free from her chest.
Every word, every glance Jason had shared at dinner twisted inside her like a slow-burning fire—part fear, part desire. She hated how much he unsettled her. And yet… she couldn't deny the way her skin tingled when his name passed her lips in her thoughts.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone again. She hesitated, staring at her contacts list.
Then she pressed Call.
Rina picked up on the second ring. "Hey babe, everything okay?"
Catherine exhaled, her voice low. "I'm in the restroom. Jason's here."
"I know," Rina said softly, guilt in her voice. "I wanted to tell you, but… Zane swore it would be better if it happened naturally. He thought maybe seeing him again would help you figure things out."
"Figure things out?" Catherine whispered, voice cracking. "I can't even think straight when he's near me, Rina. He—he looks at me like he knows every part of me… and it scares me. I don't know what I'm doing."
Rina paused. "Do you want him?"
"That's the problem," Catherine confessed. "I don't know if it's want or need. Or if I just miss the way I felt when he touched me—like I mattered."
"You do matter," Rina said firmly. "But babe… don't confuse your fear with your heart. You walked away for a reason. But maybe... just maybe, you need closure. Or clarity. Or hell—just one honest conversation."
Catherine's throat tightened. "What if I get hurt again?"
"Then you'll survive. You're stronger than you think." Rina's voice softened. "But don't let fear make your decisions for you. Listen to yourself."
Catherine blinked back tears. "Thanks, Ri."
"Go back out there. And whatever happens—you are in control. Not him."
The call ended, but her pulse was still racing.
She drew in a shaky breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed away from the wall.
She walked back to the table like she hadn't just unraveled behind a bathroom door.
The space between them seemed charged, as if the air itself crackled with electricity. Jason's eyes lifted from his glass to meet hers, that familiar slow, dangerous smile curling his lips.
"Back so soon?" His voice was low, teasing, but the heat beneath it was impossible to miss.
Catherine slid into her seat, her gaze locked on his. "Needed a minute to remember how to breathe."
His chuckle was soft, dark. "I think I might be the reason for that."
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she caught the unspoken promise in his words. The fine line between control and surrender danced dangerously close.
Without breaking eye contact, Jason reached out, fingertips grazing hers briefly. The contact was electric—sending sparks up her arm and straight to the core of her.
"Tell me," he whispered, voice thick with something deeper than desire, "do you want this? Me?"
Her breath hitched, caught in the whirlwind of longing and caution. She opened her mouth to answer but found herself lost in the depths of his gaze.
Instead of speaking, she let her hand slide over his, seeking the warmth beneath the surface.
Jason's eyes darkened, and the tension between them snapped taut—like a wire pulled to its breaking point.
The world outside the restaurant faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this charged moment.
His thumb brushed softly over her knuckles, tracing delicate patterns that sent shivers down her spine.
"I'm not good at pretending," he murmured, voice low and rough, "that I don't want you."
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and every nerve screamed with the raw ache of that admission.
Catherine's fingers curled around his hand, steadying herself against the pull of everything she wanted and feared.
She leaned in, the space between their faces shrinking until the heat of his breath mingled with hers.
"Then don't pretend," she whispered back.
His lips brushed hers—gentle, teasing, a promise of something more.
The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, a dance of discovery and restraint.
Jason's hand moved from hers to cradle her jaw, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone. Her skin burned under his touch. When his other hand drifted to her waist beneath the table, anchoring her to him, she shivered—and leaned closer.
Her fingers slid up his chest, fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath.
The kiss broke just long enough for him to look at her—eyes heavy, but questioning. Asking for permission.
She answered by kissing him again.
Slower this time. Hungrier.
There was no one else in the world. Just his breath on her skin, the taste of him on her tongue, and the silent language they spoke in heat and hesitation.
Jason's hand tightened at her waist, not possessive—but grounding. Like he was afraid she'd disappear again.
They finally pulled back, breathless, their foreheads resting together.
"Show me," he said again, quieter this time. "What this could be."
Catherine's voice trembled with emotion as she met his gaze. "I will."
Then she smiled, barely—a flicker of warmth in her storm.
Because maybe… just maybe… she was finally ready to stop running.
The restaurant buzzed softly around them—clinking glasses, distant laughter—but for Catherine, the world had narrowed to the way Jason was looking at her. As if he saw right through her defenses, peeling them away one smoldering glance at a time.
He leaned back slightly, studying her with that same intense focus he used during negotiations, but here, now, it was personal. "You're shaking," he murmured, brushing his knuckles across the back of her hand.
"I'm not used to this," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"This?" he echoed, his thumb tracing light circles over her wrist.
"Wanting something so badly it scares me." Her confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable.
Jason's expression softened. "I know the feeling."
She looked up, surprised. "You do?"
He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "You think I'm calm, collected. That I've got everything figured out." His hand found hers again. "But ever since you walked out that night, I've been—off balance. Like something's missing and I can't focus until I find it."
The honesty in his voice undid her a little.
"I didn't plan this," she said. "Any of it."
"Neither did I." He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a murmur. "But I don't want to run from it anymore. Do you?"
Catherine swallowed hard. "No," she said, barely audible. "I don't."
Jason's smile was slow, warm, and devastating. "Good."
His hand slid along her arm, featherlight, until it rested just above her elbow. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, the question filled with suggestion—but also restraint.
Her breath caught. The thought of being alone with him again was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"I… I don't know if I'm ready to do that. Not yet."
Jason nodded, no disappointment in his eyes—only understanding. "I'm not asking for tonight. I'm asking for a chance."
Catherine studied him, the rich timbre of his voice still humming in her ears. "A chance for what?"
He smiled faintly. "To rewrite the ending."
The tension in her chest eased, replaced by something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope. "That's a bold ask."
Jason's eyes gleamed with amusement. "I'm a bold man."
She laughed softly, and the sound felt good. Natural. Real. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't afraid of what might happen next.
The waiter appeared discreetly, placing the bill on the table without a word. Jason reached for it, but Catherine stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"I'll split it," she said.
He raised a brow. "Really?"
"I insist."
"Independent and stubborn," he murmured, eyes dancing with admiration. "I like it."
"You'd better."
They settled the bill, their fingers brushing more than once. Every touch ignited another flicker of heat beneath her skin.
When they finally stepped outside, the city air was cool and fragrant with summer night. The glow of streetlamps bathed the sidewalk in soft gold, and traffic hummed faintly in the background.
Jason walked beside her in silence for a moment, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. "I'll walk you to your car."
Catherine smiled to herself. "Still a gentleman."
He shot her a sideways look. "Only when I'm not being a complete bastard."
She chuckled. "You've got layers, Mr. Wilson."
"Complicated ones," he said, then added, more quietly, "but I want you to see them. All of them."
When they reached her car, the moment grew heavier. Jason turned to her, his hands now out of his pockets, resting gently on her arms.
"You don't have to say anything tonight," he said. "I just need you to know... I'm not walking away this time."
Catherine's heart swelled with emotion she didn't quite know how to name. Something between fear and faith.
"I'm not sure where this is going," she whispered, searching his face.
"I don't either," Jason replied. "But I know where I want it to go."
She looked up at him, searching for a trace of insincerity. But all she saw was a man stripped bare by emotion he could no longer hide.
She reached up, brushing her fingers along the lapel of his jacket. "You really want this?"
His hand moved to cup her cheek again. "I want you."
Then he kissed her—slower this time. Not because he was holding back, but because he wanted her to feel it, remember it, carry it with her long after they parted.
Catherine melted into him again, letting her hands curl against his chest, letting herself want without shame.
When the kiss ended, neither of them moved for a moment.
Finally, she stepped back, breath unsteady. "I'll call you," she said, eyes shining.
Jason nodded, his own voice rough. "I'll be waiting."
She slid into the car and rolled down the window just enough to meet his gaze again.
"Goodnight, Jason."
He smiled, tender and tired and full of something heartbreakingly real. "Goodnight
, Catherine."
As she drove away, her fingers trembled on the steering wheel, but her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.
Maybe this wasn't the end of something.
Maybe… it was the beginning.