The sky was already slipping into shades of gold and lilac by the time Catherine stepped out of the café, her apron tucked into her bag and hair slightly tousled from the long shift.
She looked tired—her eyes a little dull, her shoulders a little heavy—but there was still something effortlessly beautiful about her. The kind of beauty that didn't need dressing up. Soft and natural, like a watercolor left out in the sun.
Maverick leaned against his car, scrolling through his phone. His tailored outfit hadn't wrinkled, and his cologne still clung to the air like confidence. But when he looked up and saw Catherine, something in his expression faltered for half a second—disappointment, maybe? He didn't say it right away, but it settled in his eyes.
"You're wearing that?" he finally asked, unlocking the car doors.
Catherine looked down at herself. Simple jeans, a soft lavender blouse, and white sneakers. Neat. Clean. Comfortable.
She frowned slightly. "Yeah… I thought it was fine."
He gave a quiet exhale and climbed into the driver's seat. "You have such a beautiful face, Cath. But sometimes I wish you'd try a little harder to… match it."
Catherine's heart pinched, but she said nothing. She slid into the passenger seat beside him, gently folding her hands in her lap.
"It's okay," Maverick added, already shifting gears. "It's not going to be a long date anyway. I've got dinner with a client later. Important stuff."
She nodded, lips tight. Then, quietly:
"Thank you for still making time for me. I missed you a lot, Mav. Feels like we haven't really talked... or been with each other properly in a while."
Maverick glanced at her as they paused at a traffic light. His gaze softened slightly, though it didn't linger.
"I know," he murmured. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. "I'm sorry I've been busy. I really am. But I'm working for something better. For us. I just need you to understand that."
"I do," Catherine whispered.
"We're not kids anymore like we were in school," he continued. "I've got a career to build. And you... you've got your dad, your job... your life. Maybe we should give each other a little space to grow."
Her heart sank, but she managed a smile—small and polite, the kind she wore for customers. "Okay. I understand."
The restaurant Maverick took her to was stunning—tucked behind glass walls and draped in warm lighting, with elegant music playing softly in the background. Every detail shimmered with understated luxury: crystal glasses, silver cutlery, waiters in black and white like chess pieces.
Catherine hesitated at the entrance, suddenly very aware of her jeans and sneakers. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blouse.
Maverick noticed but didn't stop walking. "Relax. The owner's a friend. We're not paying, and I'm not here to impress anyone."
That didn't make her feel any better.
Still, she followed him in, her head slightly bowed. The maître d' greeted Maverick with a smile and led them to a private corner table lit by a soft-glowing lamp.
Catherine sat down slowly, her cheeks warm with discomfort. The other women in the room were in dresses, heels, jewelry that caught the light like stars. She felt like a shadow between them.
But she stayed silent.
Maverick ordered for them both, barely glancing at the menu. His phone buzzed twice. He checked it quickly, smiled to himself, then tucked it back into his jacket.
Catherine sipped her water, trying not to let the silence swallow her whole. She wanted to ask him about his week. About the client. About what he was so happy texting earlier.
But she didn't want to ruin the night. Not with Valentine's Day so close. Not when he had finally made time.
And so, she smiled, too.
Even if it didn't quite reach her eyes.