Chris eased his car under the hotel’s covered entrance, the engine’s low purr fading into the quiet night. He stepped out, drawn by the golden light spilling from the windows, the murmur of laughter and clinking glasses pulling him toward the promise of something warm inside. The air carried hints of fresh herbs and citrus—alive, inviting, like the place had a heartbeat.

But amid the Friday rush, Meg saw him first. He stood just inside the door, scanning the packed room with a faint furrow in his brow, broad shoulders squared as if debating whether to claim a spot or turn back. There was something endearingly out of place about him—a quiet strength amid the chaos—that caught her eye from across the floor.

Without thinking, she moved toward him, her heels clicking softly on the tile, a rhythm as natural as breathing. Meg wasn’t new to the art of commanding attention. As the hotel’s owner and chef, she wore her authority like a second skin: a crisp white blouse unbuttoned just enough to feel lived-in, not staged, paired with tailored blue jeans that moved with her long legs. A few curls had escaped her thick braids, brushing her soft brown skin, framing eyes that missed nothing and full lips curved in a welcoming half-smile. She wasn’t trying to turn heads; she just did, effortlessly, with a quiet grace that made even the busiest room feel still.

“First time here?” she asked, her voice warm and steady, pulling him in with an easy confidence that made him feel like she already knew him. She was close enough now to catch the subtle cedar of his cologne mixing with the kitchen’s herbs—a blend that felt just as inviting as her smile.

He turned toward her, his lips tugging into a soft smile, as if he’d been waiting for her. “Yeah. Looks like I picked a busy night.” His voice had that deep, calm timbre, one that suggested he could make himself at home anywhere—though he certainly didn’t look like the type to seek out a crowd.

“I’m Meg,” she said, her head tilting slightly as she offered him a look that lingered a little longer than most would. “Let me take care of you.”

He hesitated for a second, then fell into step beside her, the crowd parting like it knew better than to get in her way. “Chris. Appreciate it.”

At the table, she handed him the menu, their fingers brushing for half a second—just long enough to spark something unspoken, a little charge that buzzed between them. “Anything off-limits?” she asked, her voice dipping with playful curiosity.

“Not picky,” he said, settling in. His gaze lingered on her just a beat longer than necessary, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Surprise me. I trust you.”

Meg’s eyes sparkled, amusement dancing on the edges of her smile. She couldn’t help herself. The playful challenge in his words felt too good to pass up. “Bold move for a stranger. You’re on.”

As she walked away, hips swaying with the unhurried confidence of someone who owned the room, Chris couldn’t help but watch. Not in a way that felt invasive, just noticing the way her loose curls caught the light, the quiet command in how the staff looked her way without a word. For the first time since his long drive in, the weight of blueprints and construction plans seemed lighter, if only for a moment.

The appetizer arrived first—roasted vegetables, bright with citrus, plated like art. Meg swung by to check in, leaning on the table’s edge with that effortless grace that seemed to draw everyone’s attention without trying. “Verdict?” she asked, her voice soft, a little teasing.

He took a bite, closing his eyes for a second as the flavors hit. “Damn. That’s the good stuff.”

Her lips curled into a deeper smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thought you might like it. Main’s coming up next.”

They talked then, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. His stories of dusty construction sites and the weight of steel beams. Her tales of late-night kitchen improvisations and the quirky guests who made this hotel feel like home. They found themselves laughing in easy intervals, like they’d known each other for years, as though they were just two people enjoying a quiet moment in an overstuffed world. No rush. No performance. Just real talk, two people clicking in the midst of a hum.

By closing time, Meg’s apron was off, her curls fully loose now, tumbling soft over her shoulders. She stopped at his table, her blouse still warm with the faint scent of the kitchen, her jeans fitting her like they’d been tailored just for her. There was something about her now, untethered, free—like the night itself had claimed her.

“Stick around? I know a place for late coffee that beats any chain,” she offered, voice low, teasing him just a little.

Chris stood, his height making her feel small in the best way. His eyes held a depth to them, serious yet somehow warm. The silver watch on his wrist caught the dim light of the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The night air hit cool as they stepped outside, and the quiet of the Maine night embraced them. The car ride up to the overlook felt like a small adventure—Meg at the wheel, Chris beside her, the promise of something unspoken hanging between them. Maine sprawled below, a quilt of lights under a sky punched with stars. She killed the engine, and the silence that followed felt natural, comfortable.

“This,” Meg said softly, stepping out of the car, the breeze pulling at her curls, “is where the day resets.”

Chris followed her out, stepping up beside her at the edge, their shoulders brushing just a little. His hand found its way into his pocket, but his gaze never left her face. “Perfect pick,” he murmured, voice low and steady, as though he were finding the right words. “Makes the project feel… smaller. Doable.”

Meg raised an eyebrow at him, glancing over with a playful smirk. “New place, big job, mystery host dragging you uphill.” She tilted her head. “Regrets?”

His gaze held hers for a moment, something shifting in the space between them. “Thought it’d be another grind. Then you handed me that plate. And… yeah. Best detour ever.”

Her heart did a little flip at that, the way his voice softened when he spoke. She tilted her chin toward him, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “I’m glad you think so.” There was a shift in the air, something warmer between them now, like the whole night had been leading to this.

He closed the space between them slowly, with a kind of deliberate tenderness that made her breath catch. When his lips met hers, it was soft at first, gentle, a taste of citrus and possibility, and something more. Her hand found his arm, fingers brushing against his skin, as if she needed to hold onto something real. His hand settled lightly at her waist, grounding them both in the moment. Simple. Real.

They pulled away just enough to rest their foreheads together, breaths mingling, their shared warmth lingering like the night itself.

“Welcome to Maine,” she whispered, voice barely above the wind.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and content. “Glad I found the right table.”

Fingers lacing through hers, he held on just a little longer, as if he didn’t want to let the moment slip away.