Page 29 of Eat Slay Love

Or I could say yes.

Yes, to him.

Yes, to this night.

Yes, to the version of me who wasn’t afraid to take up space, to be seen, to be wanted.

Yes, to the woman I had spent so many years becoming.

Alright then. . .that’s settled.

So I straightened my spine, turned to him, and tilted my head. A wicked smirk teased the corners of my lips. "If I say yes. . .what happens next?"

He exhaled slowly, like I’d just handed him a wrapped gift and he wanted to savor the moment before he tore it open.

Then, he leaned in.

Not enough to touch, but enough to fill every inch of space between us with his heat, his presence, his scent.

His voice was low, deep, sinful. "You’ll find out."

My pulse skipped.

"But I promise, Ms. Harris, you won’t regret it."

Mmmm.

I wet my lips, mouth suddenly dry, body suddenly too warm.

A decision sat on the tip of my tongue, one I had already made before I even asked the damn question.

I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on. "Then, yes. Let’s enjoy this dinner together."

And in that moment, something shifted. His entire body visibly relaxed, but somehow, his intensity doubled and his eyes darkened, glimmering with something a little unholy.

"Good," he murmured.

And then. . .the tunnel ahead of us began to open.

A new space, glowing with golden light, unfolding like a secret being revealed.

And just like that, the experience truly began.

I stepped into pure decadence.

This dining space was stunning, as if someone had plucked it straight from a fantasy.

Golden candlelight flickered from massive crystal chandeliers, casting a soft glow over plush velvet seating and towering floral arrangements.

The scent of roses, vanilla, and spices curled through the air, warm and intoxicating.

And the tables—only ten of them in the entire space—were arranged for intimacy.

One couple per table.

No excess.

No distractions.

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