Far From Over

Elliot

I arrived at the restaurant early, which wasn’t like me. But tonight was different. I wanted to be prepared, to have the upper hand. Susan had a way of throwing me off balance lately, and I wasn’t about to let her do it again.

The table I’d reserved was secluded, tucked away from prying eyes and distractions. As I sipped my scotch, I caught myself glancing at the entrance every few seconds, anticipating her arrival.

When she finally walked in, I almost forgot to breathe.

The dress was sleek, black, and impossibly elegant. It clung to her figure in a way that demanded attention, but it wasn’t just the dress...it was her. The way she carried herself, the quiet confidence in her stride, the way her eyes scanned the room like she owned it.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

Then she saw me, and the spell broke.

“You’re early,” she said as she reached the table, her voice calm and controlled, like she hadn’t just turned my entire evening upside down.

“And you’re stunning,” I replied without thinking. It wasn’t a line; it was the truth.

She raised an eyebrow, slipping into the seat across from me. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Prescott.”

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

The waiter came to take her drink order, and for a brief moment, I was grateful for the interruption. I needed a second to recalibrate, to remind myself why I’d invited her here in the first place.

When the waiter left, she fixed me with a pointed look. “So, what’s the real reason for this dinner?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider her question. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone firm and unyielding.

Her determination was both infuriating and exhilarating.

“I wanted to talk,” I admitted, keeping my tone casual. “Away from the office.”

“About?”

“Us.”

The word hung in the air like a loaded gun. Her reaction was instant...her jaw tightened, her posture stiffened, and her eyes narrowed.

“There is no ‘us,’” she said, her words sharp enough to cut.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to argue, but the waiter returned with our drinks, cutting her off.

The conversation shifted after that. It became lighter, more comfortable. We talked about work, our shared frustrations with Gerald, and random anecdotes that had nothing to do with anything.

It felt... easy. Natural. Like old times.

But then I caught her looking at me, her lips slightly parted, her guard slipping for just a moment.

“What?” she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Nothing. Just... it’s good to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy.”

The vulnerability in my own voice startled me, and I could see it startled her too. She looked away, and the moment passed, but the weight of it lingered.

When the check came, I didn’t give her a chance to argue. I paid quickly, determined to keep some semblance of control over the situation.

We stepped outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the charged atmosphere of the restaurant. She turned to me, her lips parting as if to speak, but I stopped her with a look.

“Goodnight, Susan,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Goodnight, Elliot,” she replied, her voice softer now, almost unsure.

I watched her walk away, my chest tightening with every step she took.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.