“CAN YOU BELIEVE I’VE NEVER been here?” Mallory looks at me with wide eyes as we near the entrance of Dalicon. “I almost forget it’s even here. It’s just tucked back here so neatly.”

“This is one of my favorite places in Savannah,” I tell her. I give my name to the hostess and she whisks us through the restaurant. With the large, wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and warm walls set off with dark floors, it’s a very relaxed place. The burnt orange paper lanterns and wall art give it a slight air of sophistication that I love.

Once we are settled into a little table in the corner and have ordered wine, Mallory seems to relax. “This is stunning. I just want to look around and that says something—I always want to eat!” she laughs.

“Soda and protein bars?”

“No,” she says, but stops when the waiter appears at our side. He starts to hand her a glass. As he does, he’s bumped from behind and a splash of wine lands in Mallory’s lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, resting the serving try on a vacant table and rushing to Mallory’s side. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me get you something.”

As I start to extend a hand with my linen napkin, I’m stopped by her laugh. “Please,” she gushes to the waiter. “It was an accident. It’s no problem, really.”

“But, madam, I am so sorry. I should be more careful. I’ve just ruined your dress.”

“Please . . . Donnie,” she says, eyeing his name tag. “It’s really no big deal. It’ll clean. And if it doesn’t, it’s a dress. I’ll survive.”

“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” he asks, stunned. “Can I at least get you an appetizer? Let me do something.”

I tune out, unable to really focus on anything but the pure kindness in her eyes. Before long, she has him laughing along with her and I’m speechless.

“Sir? What can I get you?” Donnie asks.

Shaking my head, I indicate off the menu what I want and once he’s gone, I smile at Mallory. “That was pretty fantastic.”

“What?” she asks, dabbling the wet spot with a napkin, completely oblivious to what I’m referring.

“How you handled that.”

“How was I supposed to handle it?” she asks, resting the linen next to her plate.

“Most women would’ve freaked out over that. You were worried about Donnie boy.”

She takes a sip of her wine. “Accidents happen. God knows I’ve had my fair share. You heard the story I was telling him about the time I dumped an entire tray of margaritas in someone’s lap. You just have to let some stuff go. Or maybe you just realize that once you’ve been in their shoes.”

“You were a waitress?”

“Yeah. I’ve done dishes, worked as a cashier once at a grocery store. That was the worst job I’ve had, actually. People just look at you like you’re garbage,” she frowns. “I’ve worked in a beauty shop, cleaning up tanning beds after the people leave and sweeping up hair and stuff.”

“When? High school? Now?”

“My whole life,” she shrugs. “I did a lot of those while I was in high school. I’d go to school and then work the hours I was allowed under the law. And then, sometimes, I’d work at another place and they’d just pay me under the table so I didn’t get in trouble with school.”

“That must have been really hard,” I note, thinking about how hard I thought it was going to school and helping Dad out on the weekends.

She smiles. “It wasn’t easy. But that discipline got me where I am today.” Her finger runs around the rim of her glass as she thinks. “It’s where my work ethic comes from. If I wanted a tank of gas or car insurance, I had to get the money for it. If I wanted the fancy jeans with the sparkly pockets, I had to hustle for that. It sucked then, but I’m not afraid to work now for what I have. Or what I want.” She looks at me, her eyes shining in the dim light. “That’s why I respect you so much, Graham. I see your work ethic and I admire that. There aren’t a lot of people that will just do the job, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I chuckle. “I replaced your position about fourteen times before you showed up.”

The waiter places our food in front of us. He takes a minute to chat with Mallory, making sure she’s completely happy and comfortable. Watching her get doted on is amusing and witnessing her sweetness shine with Donnie is special. It’s not something I’ve seen often.

“So,” I say, “what do you want to do with yourself ? You don’t want anything in the field of medicine, that we know. What are you thinking?”

“Honestly?” She slices her chicken breast carefully, her lips pressing together. Finally, she shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

Her hair swishes back and forth as she shakes her head. “I tell Joy I’m having a mid-life crisis,” she half-laughs. “I’ve spent my entire life, since turning eighteen, doing what I needed to do or what Eric wanted me to do.”

“I don’t think I like him.”

“I don’t. So that’s two of us,” she sighs. “I let him manipulate me. In the moment, I didn’t realize it, but I see it now.”

I set my silverware on the edge of my plate and look at her. “What happened with him? Do you mind me asking?”

Her fork drops too. “When I told him I was dropping out, he went ballistic. He said I was a liability to him, a nobody that would never amount to anything. There was something in the way he said it that time—”

“He’d said those things before?” I bite out, feeling my irritation soar.

She shrugs, trying to play it off. “Maybe. But that time . . . he just made me feel really bad. I don’t know why it was different that time than before. It was just a really ugly argument.”

“Explain ugly,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“No,” she says, reading between the lines. “Nothing happened. God, no. He’s still alive. If he would have hurt me physically, I’d be locked up.”

“Mental abuse and physical abuse are no different.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But I made a decision that day that I’d had enough. I was at this point where I felt so . . . put in a corner. Does that make sense? Like my whole life was being scripted by someone else. I’d never done anything I wanted to do.”

I fiddle with the corner of my napkin.

“And it’s not like he even promised me the world for hanging in there. He told me flat-out we had no future.”

“He sounds like a complete tool.”

“Apparently I’m just the dating kind, not the kind for marriage.” Her eyes flick to mine with a sadness that slays me. I reach for her hand.

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“I think he’s right.”

Her gaze drops to the table, her shoulders slumping. I grin.

“You are just the dating kind for a guy like that. He doesn’t deserve to keep you long-term.”

The corners of her cheeks start to bend, but she doesn’t smile. I work harder for it.

“You are young. Beautiful. Smart. You have the whole world at your feet, Mallory. Why would you stifle your potential by staying with someone that wants to keep you in a box?”

She perks up, the smile I’m dying to see starts to slide across her cheeks. “You think so?”

“I know so. Now you just need a plan and I happen to be an excellent planner,” I chuckle. “What do you want to do with yourself ?

“I was telling Sienna the other day that I might open a yoga studio someday.”

“And . . .”

She shrugs.

“That’s it?” I ask. “You want to maybe open a yoga studio at some point in the future?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she says defensively. “Look, Graham. I’m starting all over. I know that’s hard for you to understand, being who you are, but I’m doing the best I can to basically recreate dreams and decide who I am in the midst of my life.”

“Hey,” I say, reaching for her hand and placing mine on top of it. “I didn’t mean anything by that. It came out as a jerk thing, and I didn’t mean it like that at all. I was wrong.”

“I know I get protective over myself right now. I just am so afraid I’ll slip and end up in some position where I’m cut down.”

“I’d never cut you down. The only people who cut others down are those threatened by their height. The higher you get, the more lovely I think you are.”

Her cheeks flush. Her hand rolls over and she squeezes mine. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

“I only speak the truth.”

She relaxes in her chair. “Tell me about you, Graham. What are your life plans?”

“I just want to keep doing what I’m doing until I can’t,” I say simply. “This business is my life. Growing up, I just wanted to be my dad. Not emulate him or pretend to be him—I wanted to be him. When he stepped back and made me President of the company, it was the proudest day of my life, you know? My father sort of passing the torch.”

“That’s awesome,” she grins. “But I feel like everything you do and say has to do with the business. What about outside of that? You have this huge family. Do you want that too?”

I bring my hand away from hers slowly. “I don’t think I’ll have a family as large as mine, no. I mean, there are six of us and I’m not getting any younger,” I chuckle.

“But do you want kids? Is a family a part of your future?”

Taking a sip of wine, I consider her question. More than that, I consider it in context of who she is and who I am and what this is between us. Or what it could be. And what I’m capable of letting it be. “Maybe someday,” I say, figuring that’s fair enough. “I’m not averse to having a family. Clearly, I love having a big family and I think that having children is always a blessing. But it’s not something I think I’m ready for right now, nor do I think I’ll be ready for it in the foreseeable future.”

“I didn’t think so,” she almost whispers. Her features glow as the candle in the middle of the table dances back and forth. She tosses me a smile that she has to try too hard to look natural and takes a sip of her wine.

“What about you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“A family? Someday, yeah, absolutely. I hope to have a family of my own. I’m not sure what the point of life is otherwise.” She glances at me softly. “I’ll be honest—I like being in a relationship. I liked the teamwork aspect of it and making dinner and going grocery shopping. I grew up watching my parents do those things together. They enjoyed that, looked forward to it. Maybe it was all they had together, I don’t know. It just seems like a part of life that really makes life . . . life.”

“Well, my parents certainly didn’t grocery shop together,” I say, trying to imagine my dad with a shopping cart. “But I can understand what you’re saying. For some people, relationships work.” I look her square in the eye. “They just aren’t for me.”

My chest tightens, my steak threatening to come up as I watch the fire in her eye start to wane. A part of me wants to grab her hand and tell her I want to have her in my life in some capacity, what that is, I don’t know. But that wouldn’t be fair. To either of us.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she says, scooting her chair back.

“I’ll order the cake.”

“What?”

“Cake, Mallory. We’re having cake,” I say, trying to win back that smile.

“Make it vanilla with vanilla icing.”

“Really?” I ask. “Their dessert menu is two pages long and you’re getting vanilla cake with vanilla icing?”

“I figure vanilla has fewer calories than chocolate. This is balancing out the three sodas I had today,” she winks and takes off, leaving me chuckling behind her.