Nolan's phone buzzed just as he and Celeste stepped out of the restaurant.
Through the call's background noise came the unmistakable thrum of music and a familiar voice yelling over the chaos:
"Nolan! You still with Celeste? Get over here already! When's the last time you partied with us? Muriel's here too. Soirée. Don't flake on me!"
Click. Jett didn't even wait for a response.
Nolan turned toward Celeste, voice calm. "You going to Soirée?"
"Of course," she said with an easy grin. "But I need to swing home for a quick change. Gotta find Muriel too."
"I'll take you," he said smoothly.
Celeste's eyes lit up. "Ooooh, you're giving me a ride on that gorgeous motorcycle of yours? Sold."
She laughed, eyes crinkling. "From now on, you can call me anything—Moonie, Little Luna, whatever. Just sounds better when you say it."
She climbed on behind him, helmet half-fastened. "First time on a BMW bike... This thing cost more than my old horse, right?"
Nolan clicked her helmet buckle into place, his smile soft. "You're being extra cute tonight."
"Don't flatter me unless you mean it," she giggled. "But I already know I am."
The bike purred to a stop in front of Celeste's house—a quiet, aristocratic estate bathed in twilight. Nolan dismounted, expecting to wait, but Celeste tossed off her helmet, shook out her hair, and tugged him by the wrist.
The estate exuded old-money elegance: wrought iron archways, the whisper of a fountain deep in the garden, and the faint perfume of roses in bloom. Everything about the place felt like it belonged in another century.
Nolan instinctively slowed his steps.
Inside, light spilled over a gallery of framed sketches and paintings—horses, dogs, swordplay scenes. All clearly done by Celeste. Trophies lined the walls: equestrian medals, martial arts victories, childhood photos with animals.
A crystal chandelier cast warm light over a bronze horse-head sculpture, its shadow dramatic against the ivory walls.
"I stay here most of the time. It's closer to Jett's," Celeste said, unzipping her jacket as she walked. "That's Shadowfax, my horse."
Nolan paused, eyes lingering on a photo of a young Celeste grinning beside a white stallion.
"Lord of the Rings?" he asked.
"Yes! You get me!"
"I've got a white horse too. Not for sport."
She perked up. "You serious? Show me someday?"
"I will."
"Also, I have two German Shepherds," she added, pointing toward the side yard. "Aunt Qiu's out walking them."
Nolan gave her a sideways look, amused. "Don't tell me they're called Aragorn and Legolas too?"
"King Arthur," she said without missing a beat.
He blinked. "And the other one?"
She grinned. "One's King. One's Arthur."
Nolan let out a laugh. "Touché."
Celeste smiled. "They grew up with me. Healed a lot of things I never talked about. You'll meet them soon."
She disappeared upstairs, leaving Nolan to his thoughts. He wandered over to her trophies, running his fingers along the etched names.
National Junior Equestrian Champion. Regional Martial Arts Winner.
And beneath them, paintings from 1997 to 1999—a galloping horse, a girl with twin swords, a dog framed by a window. Her essence lived in every stroke.
He murmured to himself, smiling faintly, "So maybe I'm the one who got tamed first."
He sat on the edge of the couch, hands drumming his knees, feeling oddly at peace in a house that wasn't his.
Minutes later, Celeste burst downstairs, darting into a side room. A soft light blinked on.
Nolan peeked inside and froze.
Floor-to-ceiling shoe shelves glowed under designer lighting. Rows of glittering heels in pristine order.
Celeste grabbed a pair of Jimmy Choos like a warrior picking her battle gear. She slipped them on, adjusted her dress, and grinned. "Done! Let's go, my elven prince."
Her look tonight was stunning—smoky eye makeup, dewy lips, a curve-hugging dress from Miu Miu's runway archives, glitter heels catching the light. Her long auburn hair cascaded like wildfire.
Nolan stared a beat too long.
"You like J-style? Face like Maki Horikita, but a bit of Ayumi Hamasaki too."
Celeste raised an eyebrow, amused. "Excuse me, I'm Jeon Ji-hyun level."
"You're a sleeper hit," he said. "Underrated."
She let out a laugh, then paused. "Damn, forgot a jacket."
She turned back toward the house. Nolan stopped her, sliding his jacket over her shoulders and buttoning it himself.
"Take mine. Backseat gets chilly."
She didn't move. The closeness sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.
His scent wrapped around her. Clean. Subtle. Familiar.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
"If you get cold," Nolan said with a calm smile, "just hold onto me."
Celeste blinked. Did he really just say that?
Before she could respond, he dialed his phone.
"Let me call for a car too. In case you want options."
"No! I like your motorcycle," she protested quickly. "It's… dramatic."
He chuckled but didn't cancel the call. "Fine. We'll have a backup car at the lot. You can choose your ride later."
She rolled her eyes. "Why do rich boys collect cars and bikes like trading cards?"
"We collect licenses too," he teased.
"Don't get caught."
"I'm certified on five continents. You're safe."
The engine rumbled to life again.
This night, they weren't just headed to a party. They were headed straight into a story they hadn't even realized they were already writing.