Chapter 3 - THE GENTLEST MONSTER IN BOSTON
The appetizers arrived ten minutes later.
Pan-seared scallops with a delicate garlic reduction.
I picked up my fork, my hands still trembling slightly.
“You’re shaking,” Daniel noted, setting his napkin on his lap.
“I’m dining with a man rumors say feeds people to sharks,” I replied dryly.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Sharks are expensive to maintain in Boston harbor, Emily.”
“I prefer traditional business methods.”
“Which are?”
“Real estate, shipping logistics, and polite coercion.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
The nervous knot in my stomach began to dissolve.
As the dinner progressed, Daniel didn't talk about underworld syndicates or illegal shipments.
Instead, he asked about Maple Street Books.
He asked about the rare first editions I spent my days cataloging.
He listened with genuine attention when I talked about my grandmother’s old leather-bound poetry collection.
He remembered every detail I shared.
When the waiter brought out dessert—a rich chocolate torte—Daniel noticed I pushed the raspberry garnish to the side of my plate.
“You don't like raspberries?” he asked.
“They’re too tart,” I admitted.
Without a word, Daniel swapped our dessert plates, sliding his untouched chocolate cake in front of me while taking my plate with the offending fruit.
A small, intimate gesture.
So normal.
So entirely unlike the monster the newspapers described.
When dinner ended, Daniel walked me to the valet stand.
A sleek black town car waited at the curb.
He opened the passenger door for me.
“Can I take you home, Emily?” he asked softly.
“I live on the other side of town,” I hesitated.
“I know,” he said.
I didn't ask how he knew.
By now, I figured Daniel Brooks knew everything he wanted to know.
The ride across Boston was quiet.
Comfortable.
When the car stopped outside my modest apartment building, Daniel stepped out and walked me to the front porch.
He stopped under the yellow glow of the porch light.
“Thank you for dinner, Daniel,” I said, looking up at him.
“Despite my friends, it was... wonderful.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine, Emily,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“Will you have dinner with me again next week? Without your friends, and without a joke?”
I looked into his calm gray eyes and realized I was standing on the edge of a very dangerous, very intoxicating precipice.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I’d like that.”
May you like
He smiled, bowed his head slightly, and walked back to his car.
I stood on the porch long after the taillights vanished down the street, my heart beating faster than it had in four years.
