Page 54 of Can't Stop Watching
"Everyone deserves a night off." He tastes the risotto, adds a pinch of something. His movements are confident, practiced.
He serves everything, not letting me lift a finger. As we eat, he surprises me with a running commentary on '90s sitcoms that has me laughing despite myself.
"You're telling me you've never seen a single episode of 'Friends'?" he asks, refilling my wine glass.
"I've seen the memes. Does that count?"
"Christ, I'm ancient." He shakes his head, grinning. "What about 'The X-Files'? Please tell me you believe in aliens, Lila."
The way he says my name makes my skin warm. "The truth is out there," I quote, and his smile deepens.
We talk about nothing and everything, and I find myself relaxing into the conversation. There's an ease between us I wasn't expecting to return. His intensity is still there, but tonight it doesn't frighten me.
It draws me in.
I savor another bite of the risotto, perfectly al dente with a hint of truffle. Dane watches me eat, like he's cataloging every micro-expression.
"This is incredible," I admit between bites. "Where does a private detective learn to cook like this?"
"Military. When you've had enough terrible mess hall food, you either learn to cook or resign yourself to a lifetime of disappointment." He twirls his wine glass, studying the legs that form along the sides.
I look around his apartment again, noticing what isn't there. No photos on the walls. No mementos. No personal touches at all. The furniture is expensive but minimal—a leather couch, glass coffee table, sleek entertainment system with no visible movies or games.
"Your place is..." I search for the right word, the wine making me braver, "empty."
He raises an eyebrow. "I have furniture."
"But nothing personal. No photos, no souvenirs." I gesture with my fork. "It's like a really nice hotel room someone just moved into."
His expression shifts slightly, something guarded crossing his face. "I don't like clutter."
"There's clutter, and then there's personality," I counter, feeling the warm buzz of Cabernet in my veins. "Even serial killers have family photos."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Is that what you think I am?"
"If you were, you'd probably have more trophies." I smile, but I'm genuinely curious. "Everyone has something they keep, Dane. What do you keep?"
He considers me for a long moment, then shrugs. "The past doesn't make good décor, Lila."
After we're done, I watch Dane rinse the plates, his movements efficient and precise. The silence between us feels loaded now, like we're both aware of how close we're standing.
"So, Mr. Mystery," I say, bumping his hip with mine as I dry a wine glass, "do you have any friends? Or is it just you and your gun collection?"
He snorts. "I have friends."
"Work friends don't count," I counter. "I mean real friends. The kind who'd help you hide a body."
"That an offer?" His eyes glint with amusement.
"Please. I'm a bartender. I know at least three places to dump a corpse that'll never be found."
Dane chuckles, a low rumble that makes my stomach clench with something dangerous. "There's Milo," he says finally. "He's... complicated. But he's got my back."
"Milo, huh? Sounds like a cat name."
"Trust me, he's about as cuddly as a cactus." Dane dries his hands, then reaches for a box on the counter I hadn't noticed before. "Speaking of prickly things..."
He opens the lid, revealing a chocolate cake that looks like it belongs in a fancy patisserie window. My mouth waters instantly.
