Breakfast Date

Chapter 5

Lyra

When I walked into that restaurant, I knew I was out of my league. The place screamed wealth—white linen tablecloths, chandeliers sparkling like they were made of actual diamonds, and a hushed atmosphere that made every clink of silverware sound like it cost a fortune. Roman Lennox, of course, fit right in.

He strode through the room with that air of self-assured power, looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of Forbes or GQ, take your pick. I followed him, painfully aware of my outfit—leggings, an oversized hoodie, and sneakers. I looked like I was on my way to catch a train, which, funnily enough, I was.

As we sat down, Roman barely glanced at the menu before closing it with a decisive snap. Meanwhile, I stared at mine, eyes wide as I scanned the prices. My stomach churned—not with hunger, but with the realization that a simple cup of coffee here cost more than what I spent on groceries for a week.

Roman’s pale blue eyes flicked to me, sharp and assessing. “Something wrong?” he asked smoothly, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. “No, nothing. Just… deciding.”

I wasn’t deciding. I was panicking. There was no way I could afford anything on this menu. I was about to order the cheapest thing I could find—a plain black coffee—when Roman spoke to the waiter in that confident, no-nonsense tone of his.

“We’ll have the brioche French toast with mascarpone and fresh berries, the smoked salmon eggs Benedict, and an avocado toast with a poached egg. For drinks, an Americano for me, and for the lady…” His gaze flicked to me, lingering for a moment that felt too long. “A cappuccino.”

The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving me gaping at Roman.

“I—uh—I was just going to order coffee,” I stammered.

Roman leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Breakfast is on me. Don’t worry about it.”

Embarrassment washed over me, heating my face. I wasn’t used to this—having someone like him take charge, and definitely not someone paying for my meals. I muttered a soft, “Thank you,” and busied myself with the napkin on my lap, trying to calm my nerves.

His eyes were on me again. Those pale, icy blue eyes that didn’t just see you—they pierced through you. They weren’t just looking; they were analyzing, dissecting, and probably deciding exactly what kind of person you were in the span of two seconds.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly very aware of the way my hoodie swallowed me whole. God, I didn’t belong here.

“So,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

I cleared my throat, fumbling for words. My earlier confidence, my righteous anger, it all seemed to be slipping away under the weight of his gaze. “Well, it’s just—”

And then his phone rang.

Roman frowned, pulling it from his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up. His voice was polite, but there was an undertone of annoyance as he answered the call and walked a few steps away.

I exhaled, slumping in my chair. The tension eased slightly with him gone, but my moment of reprieve didn’t last long.

“Lyra?”

The sound of my name, spoken in that familiar voice, sent a jolt through me. I turned, and there he was. Ethan. Standing a few feet away, looking at me like I’d just slapped him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice a mix of surprise and accusation.