Katie's POV:
Friday arrived quicker than I had anticipated. The office felt a little off without Rose. Olivia, her replacement for the week, was efficient, but she lacked the warm commentary Rose always offered.
"Good morning, ma'am," Olivia said as she entered with a polite smile. "Here's your agenda for today."
I nodded, taking the neatly printed sheet from her. Meetings. Calls. A briefing with Mark. And of course, that dinner invitation still lingered unread on my phone—Sean's message, patient and persistent. I hadn't responded, and guilt was beginning to nibble at my resolve.
After lunch, Mark called.
"I did a preliminary check on the area around the property," he said. "It looks promising for the warehouse."
"Let's move the site visit to early next week," I replied. "I don't want to wait two weeks."
"Understood. I'll arrange it," he said.
That evening, Beverly called again, clearly on a mission. "You didn't reply to Sean, did you?"
"No," I said.
"Katie!" she scolded gently. "He's not just some guy. He's considerate—and he's family. You should at least give him a chance."
"Why is everyone so convinced I need someone?" I asked, unable to hide my frustration.
"Because you've built this perfect fortress around you. And now that someone's knocking, you're pretending you don't hear it."
I sighed. "Fine. I'll reply to him."
"You'll go?"
"I'll reply."
After hanging up, I stared at the message again. Dinner on Friday. That was today. I typed: Dinner sounds fine. Let's keep it professional. 7 p.m., your choice of place.
Almost instantly, he replied: Looking forward to it. I'll pick you up at 6:30. Dress comfortably.
Comfortably? That could mean anything.
As I stood in front of my wardrobe, I wondered—not for the first time—what Beverly saw in people like Sean. Maybe she saw something I didn't. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted me to see it too.
I chose a navy blouse and dark jeans—nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. As I reached for my earrings, a knock came at the door.
It was one of the tenants—a woman in her mid-thirties, holding a basket.
"Hi, I'm Maya. We just moved in. I thought I'd bring this over to say thanks for having us."
I stared at her, caught off guard. "You didn't have to."
"I know," she said with a warm smile. "But we wanted to."
I took the basket, murmured a thank-you, and watched her walk back down the hall.
Maybe Beverly was right. Maybe letting people in—just a little—wasn't such a terrible idea after all.
And with that thought, I stepped into the evening air, ready—if not entirely willing—to see where this night might lead.
Sean was waiting outside in a sleek black car, leaning casually against the passenger door like something out of a carefully staged photo. When he saw me approaching, he straightened, his face lighting up with a relaxed smile that made me momentarily question every reason I had for keeping him at arm's length.
"You look great," he said as he opened the door for me.
"Thank you," I replied, slipping into the passenger seat. "You're on time."
"I wouldn't dare keep you waiting," he said with a wink, closing the door.
The drive was smooth, quiet at first. I wasn't sure what to say. Sean, thankfully, filled the silence with small talk—updates about Beverly's family, a light anecdote about his latest consulting project. I listened, nodding occasionally, still caught between business mode and… whatever this was.
He pulled into a quiet restaurant tucked away on a side street—warm lighting, ivy crawling up the walls, and soft jazz drifting from inside. Not overly fancy. Not cheap either. Comfortable, as he'd said.
"I hope this is okay," he said as he helped me out of the car. "They have great food and a peaceful vibe. No loud music or nosy waiters."
"It's fine," I said, and I meant it.
We were seated in a cozy corner booth. The menus were leather-bound, the lighting dim but gentle. For a while, we kept things light—business ideas, mutual connections, even a few shared frustrations with the corporate world. He was easy to talk to, more grounded than I expected.
But then, somewhere between the starters and the main course, the conversation shifted.
"You know," he said, setting down his glass, "I didn't ask you out just for business."
I looked at him, calm but wary. "I figured."
"I meant it when I said I'd be delighted to see you. You're brilliant, Katie. But I also think you're… guarded. And I get it. People disappoint us. They hurt us. They leave."
I blinked, the honesty in his tone catching me off guard.
"I'm not asking you to drop your guard," he continued. "Just… maybe stop sharpening the edges for one day."
That made me smile—just a little.
"I'll consider it," I said.
We talked for longer than I expected—about travel, books, even childhood memories. It was strange. Comfortable. Disarming.
By the time we left, the city had settled into its night rhythm. He walked me to my door like it was second nature, not forced or formal.
"I had a good time," I admitted as I pulled out my keys.
"I'm glad. And I meant it—no pressure. Just… see where it goes."
I nodded. "Goodnight, Sean."
"Goodnight, Katie."
He smiled, turned, and walked back to his car. I stood there for a moment, feeling something unfamiliar in my chest—something that wasn't quite discomfort, but not ease either. A flutter. A shift.
Inside, I placed the keys on the counter and saw Maya's basket still sitting on the table. I took one of the cookies and bit into it, staring out the window.
Maybe Beverly was right.
And maybe—for once—I was okay with that.