Beautiful Sin - Chapter 5
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Haru
Tokyo Club Restaurant & Bar on a Friday night was what I imagined a Tokyo subway during rush hour felt like—packed, chaotic, and full of people making questionable life choices. With about eighty diners crammed into our modestly-sized restaurant, the air was thick with the smell of teriyaki, sake, and collective desperation.
Thank God Jess and I weren’t working the bar tonight. Nothing says “I hate my life choices” quite like dealing with handsy drunks who think their platinum credit cards give them grabbing privileges. They especially loved targeting Jess and me—because apparently being young and pretty is an open invitation for harassment. Though between Jess’s blonde bombshell looks and what my brothers call my “illegal levels of cute,” we probably should’ve expected it.
Both of us had started our shift at three, preparing for the five o’clock opening, and hadn’t stopped moving since. Now, at eight, Jess collapsed into the chair behind me at the kitchen counter, looking like she’d just run a marathon in heels while carrying trays of sushi.
I turned to face her, leaning against the counter. “You look like death warmed over. What’s wrong?”
“I swear to god,” Jess groaned dramatically, fanning herself with an order pad, “if I don’t see at least one hot gay couple tonight, I’m going to die. Actually die, Haru. And then I’ll have to binge-read yaoi until sunrise just to cleanse my palate.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “And then complain about your migraine tomorrow.”
“Worth it,” she declared, stretching her long legs out in front of her. “The things I sacrifice for art.”
Jess was the living embodiment of ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’ Looking at her, you’d see a blue-eyed blonde goddess straight out of a fashion magazine. What you wouldn’t guess was that she was the world’s most dedicated fujoshi, more interested in shipping guys together than dating them herself. Which was probably why she’d appointed herself as my personal romance coach in Operation: Confess to Aiden—a mission that had been ongoing for approximately two years with zero progress.
“I’ll be fine,” she waved off my concern, before suddenly freezing mid-motion, her eyes widening. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” I glanced toward the bar, expecting a fight or at least a dramatic spill. “Please tell me no one’s bleeding on my freshly mopped—”
“Better.” Her perfectly manicured hand gripped my arm with surprising strength. “Your brother just walked in.”
My heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did at the mention of Aiden, like a teenager experiencing their first crush instead of a nineteen-year-old with an inappropriate fixation on their stepbrother. “Which one?” I asked, like I didn’t already know, like my body hadn’t already turned traitor and started heating up.
“The hot one.” She paused, tapping her glossed lips thoughtfully. “Well, the hottest one. Though honestly, your family’s gene pool is just unfair to the rest of humanity.”
“And?” I prompted, because her expression said there was definitely an ‘and.’
“And he’s with someone,” she added, her voice dropping to a disappointed whisper that carried more sympathy than I wanted to acknowledge.
I turned, because I’m apparently a masochist, and—fuck. There was Aiden, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread in a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, his golden hair catching the restaurant’s dim lighting like he had his own personal spotlight. And next to him, practically melded to his side, was a woman who screamed ‘trophy wife material’ from her perfect hair to her designer heels.
The sight sent an uncomfortable twist through my stomach, a sensation I had absolutely no right to feel. Aiden wasn’t mine. Would never be mine. The sooner I accepted that, the sooner I could move on with my life and stop having inappropriate fantasies about my stepbrother.
“She’s in your section,” Jess said, sounding like she was announcing a terminal diagnosis.
“Of course she is.” Because the universe hated me. Specifically, it hated me on Friday nights when I was already running on fumes and looking like something the cat dragged in. “Want to trade?”
“Already on it, darling.” Jess stood, smoothing her skirt. “That’s what best friends are for. Also, I need to get a closer look at that disaster of a designer bag she’s carrying. Pretty sure it’s a knockoff.”
I watched as Jess glided toward their table with the poise of someone who definitely wasn’t on hour five of a double shift. Aiden’s smile when he saw her was warm and genuine—because of course it was, he probably came out of the womb charming people. His companion’s smile, however, had all the warmth of a January morning in Alaska. The woman was eyeing Jess like she was calculating how many years in prison she’d get for “accidentally” spilling hot soup on her.
When Jess returned, she performed a full-body shudder that would’ve made any soap opera actress proud. “That woman’s giving me serious ‘future ex-wife’ vibes. Did you see how she was looking at me? Like I was something she found stuck to the bottom of her Louboutins.”
I nodded, because I had eyes and basic survival instincts. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse. She’s got more red flags than a communist parade.” Jess leaned against the counter, keeping her voice low. “Do you know her?”
“Probably a client,” I said, aiming for casual and probably hitting somewhere around ‘obviously pining.’ Because that’s what I needed—another reminder that Aiden spent his days showing beautiful, successful women around luxury penthouses while I served overpriced sushi in a uniform that made me look twelve.
Jess’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. “Since when do clients look at their real estate agents like they’re planning the wedding registry? She’s practically got ‘Future Mrs. Davis’ written all over her designer dress.”
Something cold and unpleasant settled in my stomach. “Vibe that bad, huh?”
“Honey, she’s practically radiating ‘he’s mine’ energy. It’s like a force field of territorial pheromones and Chanel No. 5.” Jess squeezed my arm sympathetically. “But don’t worry, Aiden doesn’t seem into her that way. He’s got that client smile on—you know, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes.”
I tried to laugh it off, ignoring the ridiculous relief her words brought. “Maybe she’s just threatened by you. I mean, look at you—you’re basically what happens when a model decides to moonlight as a waitress for fun.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t you dare try to deflect with compliments, Haru Ono. Not when there’s a she-wolf in designer clothing trying to sink her perfectly whitened teeth into your man.”
“He’s not my—”
“Two years!” She jabbed a finger at me, nearly taking out my eye. “Two years I’ve been watching this slow-motion train wreck of pining and meaningful glances. I swear, if you don’t confess soon, I’m going to write your love story myself and sell it as a BL novel.”
“Ouch! Ouch!” I yelped as she pinched my cheeks, her usual method of expressing frustration with my romantic incompetence. For someone so delicate-looking, she had a grip like a vice.
“Jess!” Terrence called from the kitchen, amusement clear in his voice. “What’s our favorite disaster done now?”
“Being a disaster,” Jess replied, finally releasing my poor face. “As usual.”
I rubbed my cheeks, painfully aware that Aiden was watching our little scene from across the restaurant. Because apparently, the universe hadn’t humiliated me enough tonight. “I was not.”
“You were absolutely being a disaster,” she insisted, flicking my forehead for good measure. “A beautiful, lovable disaster who needs to get his act together before someone else snatches up that golden Adonis of a stepbrother.”
Warren’s timely announcement of “Table twenty ready!” saved me from another round of cheek abuse. We loaded up our arms with plates, a skill that should definitely count as an Olympic sport, and headed back out into the chaos. If I happened to take the long way around to avoid a certain table by the window, well, that was just efficient route planning, wasn’t it?
Quarter to ten found me clearing tables and questioning my life choices when Aiden materialized out of nowhere like some stupidly attractive ninja. I nearly sent both myself and an armful of plates crashing to the floor—which would’ve been a fantastic addition to my evening—but his arms caught me before gravity could finish what it started. My face ended up pressed against his chest, which was both heavenly and torture, because now his cologne was all I could smell and my brain was rapidly short-circuiting.
The familiar scent wrapped around me—expensive cologne with notes of sandalwood and something uniquely Aiden that always made my knees weak. But beneath it was another scent—feminine perfume clinging to his suit—and my stomach did an unpleasant flip. Right. Her.
I extracted myself from his arms like he was on fire, which, given how hot my face felt, he might as well have been. “Why did you just appear like that?” I managed, trying to sound annoyed rather than flustered. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He had the audacity to chuckle, his eyes doing that thing where they made me feel like I was the only person in the room. The way the dim restaurant lighting caught in his hazel-green eyes should be illegal, highlighting flecks of gold that matched his hair. “I was trying to get your attention, but you were too busy.”
“Yeah, it’s Friday,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the chaos around us. “Been on my feet since five, living the dream. Some of us have to work for a living instead of just looking pretty in suits.”
“When’s your break?” he asked, his eyes traveling over my face with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
“It was supposed to be at nine, but the universe had other plans. Probably soon, though.” I adjusted my grip on the plates, using the mundane task to ground myself. “Why?”
“Good. Come sit with us,” he said, turning away like he’d just announced the weather rather than my personal nightmare.
“Huh?” I frowned at his retreating back, admiring the way his suit jacket hugged his broad shoulders before I caught myself. “But what about your client friend?”
“You mean Camille?” The name rolled off his tongue like expensive wine. “She’s fine with it. She wants to meet you.”
I wanted to tell him that I’d rather eat wasabi by the spoonful, but he was already walking away, leaving me with dirty dishes and a growing sense of doom.
After dealing with the dishes and cleaning tables—and seriously considering faking food poisoning—I grabbed a soft drink and found myself heading toward Aiden’s table like a moth to an extremely well-dressed flame.
What are you doing? my brain screamed. The break room exists for a reason. There’s a perfectly good chair in there with your name on it. Literally, because Jess labeled it ‘Disaster’s Throne’ last week.
But my feet kept moving, because apparently, they’d decided to side with my heart rather than my brain. Traitors, the lot of them.
I reached the table to find Aiden already sliding over in the booth, making space next to him like this was totally normal and not slowly killing me. The booth’s leather seat was warm where he’d been sitting, and I tried not to think about how close we were about to be in the small space. Camille’s eyes locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile, her perfect smile not quite reaching her eyes as she assessed me from head to toe.
“You’re Aiden’s brother?” she asked, her tone suggesting she found this about as believable as our sushi being fresh from the Sea of Japan.
“Stepbrother,” I corrected, twisting open my drink like it required all my concentration. “I’m Haru.” As if the family resemblance—or complete lack thereof—wasn’t obvious enough. Aiden was all golden California sunshine with his blonde hair and hazel-green eyes, while I took after my Japanese heritage with dark hair and eyes. We couldn’t look more different if we tried.
Camille’s perfectly glossed lips curved into what might generously be called a smile. “So you’re the youngest, right?”
I nodded, trying not to choke on the cloud of designer perfume surrounding us. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I was smelling her perfume or being personally attacked by it.
“High school freshman?”
My face burst into flames while Aiden, the traitor, started chuckling beside me, the sound vibrating through his chest and against my arm where we touched.
“Let me guess,” I muttered, jabbing an elbow into his side. “The uniform makes me look like I should be asking permission to use the bathroom instead of serving sake?”
That only made him laugh harder. Then, because he apparently wanted to kill me, he wrapped his arms around me and started messing up my hair. His touch sent electricity racing across my skin, each point of contact burning like a brand. “More like you should be getting ready for your middle school graduation.”
“Says the man wearing a suit that costs more than my tuition,” I shot back, even as I tried to ignore how perfectly I seemed to fit in his arms, how right it felt to be surrounded by his warmth and scent.
Camille cleared her throat, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. When I glanced at her, her expression could have frozen Hell over twice. Clearly, she wasn’t a fan of brotherly bonding—or maybe she just wasn’t a fan of anyone touching Aiden besides her. Either way, the temperature around our table dropped several degrees.
“University,” I said, attempting to escape Aiden’s grip, which was like trying to escape a very attractive octopus. “Though the way some people treat me, you’d think I still need help crossing the street.”
“Shocking, eh?” Aiden’s breath ghosted across my neck, and I had to bite back a sound that definitely wouldn’t have been appropriate for public spaces. “He’s nineteen but still gets mistaken for a high school student. But that’s our Haru. Always been unfairly beautiful—all delicate features and porcelain skin. Like one of those collector dolls you’re afraid might break if you handle them wrong.”
“Thanks for that stellar description,” I deadpanned. “Really helping my adult credibility here.”
Camille’s laugh sounded about as genuine as our ‘authentic’ California rolls. “Really? Those Japanese doll types? How... quaint.” Her eyes flicked between us, lingering on where Aiden’s arms still encircled me. “You must really love your stepbrother, Aiden? Though he’s nineteen now... surely he doesn’t need such... attention?”
The way she said ‘stepbrother’ made it sound like a particularly nasty strain of flu, and the emphasis on ‘attention’ carried enough insinuation to fill a novel. Something in her tone made my skin crawl, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.
“Aiden, let me go before someone mistakes this for a WWE match!” I pinched his arm, aiming for just hard enough to make him release me without actually hurting him.
“Ouch!” He yelped, but his eyes were dancing with mischief as he finally let me go. “You little brat. That’s not how you treat your elders. Someone needs a lesson in respect.”
The heat in his gaze could have set the restaurant on fire. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as the Sahara. There was something in the way he looked at me sometimes—something that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one harboring inappropriate feelings. But that was just wishful thinking, wasn’t it?
“Yes, please do teach him a lesson, Aiden,” came Jess’s voice, appearing like a romance manga fairy godmother with a bottle of water and the world’s most suspicious smile. “The more hands-on the better.”
Jess made herself comfortable at our table like she was joining a casual brunch rather than crashing what was clearly supposed to be a business dinner. She slid in beside Camille, whose smile tightened to the point where I worried about her facial muscles.
“You’re on break too?” Camille asked, eyeing Jess’s sudden appearance with thinly veiled irritation.
“Best time to catch up with my favorite family,” Jess replied sweetly, though I could practically see her adding ‘and make sure certain people keep their perfectly manicured claws to themselves’ in her head. “Can’t let an opportunity to see these handsome brothers together go to waste, now can I?”
“And how do you know Aiden?” Camille asked, her tone suggesting she was conducting a police interrogation rather than making small talk.
“Oh, I’ve known these boys for years,” Jess waved her hand airily. “Especially this disaster right here.” She gestured at me with her water bottle. “Though honestly, Aiden’s the real troublemaker. You should see how he—”
“Jess,” I warned, knowing that gleam in her eye. The last thing I needed was her sharing stories about how Aiden supposedly looked at me when I wasn’t watching, or how he always seemed to find excuses to touch me. Stories that fed my hopeless fantasies but ultimately meant nothing.
“What?” She blinked innocently, batting her eyelashes like a cartoon character. “I was just going to tell Camille about that time at the Christmas party when—”
“Don’t you have tables to serve?” I cut in desperately, giving her a look that clearly said ‘shut up or I’m burning your manga collection.’
“Nope!” She popped the ‘p’ with obvious satisfaction. “All my tables are handled. I’m free to sit here and enjoy the show— I mean, the company.”
I could feel Aiden shaking with silent laughter beside me, which really wasn’t helping. Neither was the way his arm had somehow found its way back around my shoulders, casual as you please, like this was totally normal stepbrother behavior and not slowly driving me insane.
Camille’s eyes kept darting between us like she was watching a particularly confusing tennis match. “So, Haru,” she said, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation, “you work here full time?”
“Part-time,” I corrected, trying to sound like a functioning adult instead of someone currently hyper-aware of every point where Aiden’s body touched mine. “Between classes and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life.”
“Social life?” Jess snorted, taking a sip of her water. “Is that what we’re calling hiding in the library every time someone asks you out?”
“I do not hide—” I started to protest, but Aiden’s grip on my shoulder tightened slightly, his body tensing beside me.
“People ask you out?” he asked, his tone deceptively light though something darker lurked beneath the surface.
“No one important,” Jess answered before I could, her eyes twinkling with unholy glee. “Though there was that one guy last week—the one with the motorcycle and the tattoos who kept coming in just to sit in your section?”
“Jess!” I hissed, feeling the temperature drop around Aiden. “Don’t you have literally anywhere else to be?”
“Nope!” she chirped. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Front row seats to the best show in town.”
“So,” Camille cut in, clearly done with Jess’s matchmaking theatre, “it must be... challenging, working as a waiter.”
The way she said ‘waiter’ made it sound like I’d chosen to become a professional gum scraper or maybe someone who cleans portable toilets for a living. “It has its moments,” I replied, matching her condescension with practiced politeness.
“The rent in this area must be impossible to manage on such a salary,” she said, her tone dripping with faux concern as she stirred her drink with a delicate motion. “Have you considered moving somewhere more... suitable for your income level?”
I nearly choked on my drink. Was she really trying to real-estate-shame me in the middle of a restaurant?
“Actually,” Aiden cut in smoothly, his voice taking on that professional edge that meant someone had crossed a line, “Haru lives with me and our brothers.”
The look on Camille’s face was priceless, like someone had just told her Gucci was going out of business and all designer items would henceforth be made of recycled plastic bags. “You... live together?”
“Have for ten years now,” Aiden confirmed, his arm still casually draped around my shoulders like it belonged there. “Family tradition.”
I turned to Aiden, trying to change the subject before Camille’s eyebrows disappeared completely into her hairline. “Speaking of family, what brought you two here tonight? I mean, there are about fifty higher-rated restaurants within walking distance.”
“Because you’re working here,” Aiden said bluntly, his eyes never leaving mine, “and I don’t trust half the customers not to harass you.”
My drink went down the wrong pipe, sending me into a coughing fit. Perfect timing, really. Very dignified. Nothing says “mature adult” quite like choking on soda while your gorgeous stepbrother watches in amusement.
Aiden’s hand was instantly on my back, rubbing gentle circles that really weren’t helping my composure. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment. “Just... fine.”
“Harassing him?” Camille’s voice could have cut diamonds. “Why would anyone...?”
“Oh honey,” Jess interjected, her smile sharp enough to slice sashimi, “you’d be surprised how many people appreciate our Haru’s... unique charms. Though most of them know better than to try anything when his brothers are around,” Jess added meaningfully. “Especially Aiden.”
I felt Aiden shift beside me, his posture straightening almost imperceptibly. His arm, still draped around my shoulders, tightened just enough that I noticed.
“That kind of interest?” Camille said, looking me up and down like I was a particularly puzzling exhibit at a museum. “At his age? And being male?” She gave me a dismissive once-over like I was last season’s Prada. “I mean, if he was a woman in a short skirt, I’d understand the concern, but he’s practically wearing a hazmat suit.” She gestured at my conservative work uniform with a perfectly manicured hand.
I resisted the urge to ask if she’d been living under a designer rock her entire life. Did she really think only women faced harassment? Or was it that she couldn’t imagine anyone finding me attractive enough to warrant unwanted attention?
“Oh honey,” Jess drawled, her smile sweet enough to cause diabetes, “you’d be amazed how many people find a man in uniform irresistible. Even one that makes him look like he’s about to serve tea at a convent. Our Haru here has a fan club that would put K-pop stars to shame—and trust me, they’re not here for our California rolls.”
Aiden’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly along his cheekbone. “How many?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual. “These admirers.”
Jess’s eyes lit up, clearly delighted by his reaction. “My, my,” she continued, practically glowing with mischief, “just last week, three different customers asked for his number. And that’s not counting the ones who leave their numbers on napkins or receipts.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “We have a running bet in the kitchen on how many phone numbers he’ll collect in a shift. My record is twelve.”
“Twelve?” Aiden repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. His fingers drummed a restless pattern against my shoulder, each tap sending little jolts through my system.
I wanted to sink through the floor. “Jess, please stop talking,” I muttered, but she was on a roll.
“Oh, and there was that one guy who kept coming in every day for two weeks straight, ordering the cheapest thing on the menu just to sit in Haru’s section. He left a hundred-dollar tip each time.”
“What guy?” Aiden asked sharply, his casual demeanor slipping. “Does he still come in?”
Before Jess could answer and make things worse, Camille cut in, her expression souring as she watched Aiden’s increasingly obvious concern. Her eyes darted between us, narrowing slightly as she tapped her manicured nail against her glass like she was conducting an orchestra of judgment.
“So what you’re saying,” she said, her voice dripping with insinuation, “is that your little waiter here attracts an unusual amount of attention.” Her gaze swept over me again, this time more calculating. “That makes me wonder if perhaps he’s doing something to encourage it? Some people do enjoy playing the damsel—or should I say, prince—in distress.” Her smile could have curdled milk. “What’s that American saying? If you’re not paying for the meal, you’re probably on the menu?”
The restaurant noise faded to a dull roar in my ears. Did she really just go there? In what alternate universe did being cute while serving sushi count as asking for harassment?
I saw Jess’s jaw drop so fast I worried she’d need to pick it up off the floor. But it was Aiden’s reaction that made my breath catch. His entire body went rigid beside me, and the temperature around our table seemed to drop ten degrees. I’d seen Aiden angry before, but this was different. This was the calm before a Category 5 hurricane.
His fingers, still wrapped around his water glass, had gone white at the knuckles. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly controlled, perfectly polite—and absolutely terrifying.
“Ms. Thompson,” he said, using her surname for the first time that evening. The shift from ‘Camille’ wasn’t lost on anyone at the table. “I understand you’re a valued client, and Mark Williams Realty appreciates your business.” He paused, and his next words could have frozen Hell over. “However, if you ever imply something like that about my brother again, I’ll personally ensure that every real estate agency in the city knows exactly why they shouldn’t work with you.”
His grip on my arm tightened protectively, but his smile remained professional—the kind of smile that reminded everyone that Aiden Davis hadn’t become one of Mark Williams’ top agents by being nice.
“I’ve lived with Haru for ten years,” he continued, his voice still deadly calm, “and trust me, the only thing he’s guilty of is having a face that makes people forget their manners. Something you seem to be demonstrating quite effectively right now.”
His words sent a warm rush through me that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how fiercely he defended me. It was moments like these that made my hopeless crush even more impossible to overcome—when Aiden showed just how much he cared, how far he’d go to protect me.
Camille’s face went through several interesting color changes, landing somewhere between mortified and furious. “I... I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Look,” I cut in, channeling every ounce of sass I’d learned from Jess, “contrary to whatever Lifetime movie is playing in your head, I don’t actually spend my shifts plotting ways to seduce the general public. And FYI, I already have someone I’m in love with—shocking as that might be to your ‘poor-people-can’t-have-feelings’ worldview.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I felt Aiden’s arm tense differently around me. Fantastic. Spectacular. I’d just graduated from defending my honor to practically skywriting my feelings across the restaurant ceiling. Next time, why not just hire a mariachi band to announce my love life? Maybe take out a billboard while I was at it?
“I’m going back to work,” I announced, extracting myself from Aiden’s grip before this situation could derail any further into a soap opera. “Some of us earn our sushi the old-fashioned way—by actually working for it.”
“Haru?” Aiden’s voice held a note I couldn’t quite decipher, and honestly didn’t want to add to my already overflowing plate of complications.
I forced a smile that belonged in our fake food display. “It’s fine, Aiden.” I turned to Camille, channeling my inner mean girl. “Pro tip? Maybe don’t judge the staff until you’ve walked a mile in their non-designer shoes.”
With that, I turned and headed for the staff room, my heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Behind me, I heard Jess’s voice, cold as liquid nitrogen: “Thanks for ruining the fun, Camille.” A moment later, she was beside me, her heels clicking against the floor like angry exclamation points.
As we pushed through the swinging doors into the relative safety of the staff area, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hands were shaking slightly—from anger, from embarrassment, from the lingering sensation of Aiden’s arm around me, I couldn’t tell.
“Well,” Jess said, leaning against the wall, “that was...”
“A disaster?” I supplied, slumping into the nearest chair. “A catastrophe? A new low in the ongoing saga of ‘Haru Ono: Human Train Wreck’?”
“I was going to say ‘revealing,’” she replied, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when you mentioned being in love with someone? For a second there, I thought he was going to break that glass.”
“He was probably just surprised,” I muttered, though a treacherous spark of hope flickered in my chest. “Or worried about who’s been distracting his little brother from his studies.”
Jess rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck. “You’re hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.” She pushed away from the wall, straightening her uniform. “Come on, break’s over. Let’s get back out there before Warren has a conniption.”
As I followed her back into the fray, I couldn’t help glancing toward Aiden’s table. He was leaning forward, saying something to Camille with that intense focus he got when he was serious about something. Whatever it was, she didn’t look happy about it.
I turned away before he could catch me looking. I had tables to serve, tips to earn, and a heart to protect. The last thing I needed was to feed this hopeless crush with more what-ifs and maybes.
But as I moved through the restaurant, taking orders and clearing plates, I could feel his eyes on me, tracking my movements across the floor. And despite everything—despite the impossibility of it all—that traitorous spark of hope refused to die.