Page 11 of Slap Shot
"That's not a terrible idea. HR concerns aside, we do need to discuss our next steps without conference room constraints."
"Antonio's?" The suggestion came out more hopefully than he'd intended. "It's quiet, good food, and they don't mind Charlie."
"It's a date." The words slipped out, and Heather immediately flushed. "I mean, it's a plan. A professional dinner plan and a show."
Oliver's mouth curved in a smile. "Right. Professional."
ANTONIO'S WAS DIFFERENTon a Tuesday night—quieter, more intimate than the bustling weekend crowds Oliver was used to. He'd arrived fifteen minutes early, partly from nerves and partly because Charlie needed time to settle into his designated spot beside their corner table.
Charlie, as usual, was an excellent barometer for his mood. The dog had been restless all day, occasionally padding over to press against Oliver's leg in the gentle reminder that meantbreathe, stay present, don't spiral.
"I know, buddy," Oliver murmured, scratching behind Charlie's ears. "I'm being weird about this."
Charlie's expression suggested he agreed with that assessment.
The restaurant was busy but not crowded, the kind of place where conversations could be held without shouting over background noise. The hostess had been accommodating about the service dog, leading them to a secluded booth where Charlie could lie down without blocking foot traffic. Oliver checked his phone for the third time, then forced himself to put it away. This wasn't a date, despite Heather's slip earlier. This was a work dinner that happened to include entertainment afterward.
So why did his pulse kick up when Heather appeared in the restaurant's entrance?
When Heather got there, his breath caught in his throat. She wore a green sweater dress that brought out her eyes and clung to her curves. Her hair was down, falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
"Sorry if I'm overdressed," she said, sliding into the chair across from him.
"You look perfect," Oliver said. "I mean, appropriate. For dinner. You look appropriate for dinner."
Heather's smile widened, and she reached down to pet Charlie, who had immediately moved to greet her. "Hello, handsome boy. Are you keeping your human out of trouble?"
Charlie's tail wagged enthusiastically, and Oliver noted the way the dog leaned into Heather's touch. Charlie was friendly but selective about who received his full attention. Apparently, Heather had passed some invisible test.
"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "I had to finish securing some files before I felt comfortable leaving."
"No problem. I ordered us some wine. I hope that's okay."
"More than okay." Heather accepted the glass he poured.
Oliver raised his glass. "To... professional collaboration?"
"To getting answers," Heather corrected, clinking her glass against his.
They ordered appetizers and fell into easy conversation about the case, but Oliver was distracted by details that had nothing to do with cybersecurity. The way Heather gestured when she explained complex concepts. How her laugh was different away from work. It was more genuine, more her.
"You're not listening," she accused halfway through her explanation of network topology.
"I'm listening. You were talking about technical things."
"Technical things?" Heather's eyebrow arched.
"Sorry. I got distracted by how much you light up when you talk about your work. It's..." He searched for the right word. "Captivating."
The compliment landed heavier than he'd intended, shifting the atmosphere between them from collegial to something more charged. Heather set down her wine glass, studying his face.
"Oliver—"
"I know. We’re work colleagues discussing a case." But even as he said it, his gaze dropped to her mouth, wondering what she'd taste like if he leaned across the table right now.
"Right." But she was looking at his mouth too.
The server approached, and they ordered dinner. As they waited for their food, the conversation started professionally enough, but gradually shifted into more personal territory.
