Emily’s POV
The restaurant was nothing like the opulent, hushed gallery from the gala. This place was all warm wood, bustling noise, and the incredible, garlicky smell of real food. It was a small, family-owned Italian place tucked away on a side street, the kind of spot you’d only know about if you’d lived in the city for years. There were checkered tablecloths, Chianti bottle candles, and the low hum of a dozen conversations. No one looked twice at us.
It was the last place on earth I would have expected Baek Jin to choose.
We were seated in a quiet corner booth, a basket of crusty bread between us. I was hyper-aware of everything: the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms; the way he studied the simple menu with the same intensity he’d probably give a m
