Ashley's POV
The restaurant was so quiet that the only sounds were the delicate clinks of knives and forks against plates and the faint, muffled crashing of waves beyond the glass from Santa Monica Beach.
Neither Hebert nor I had a clue that a storm of online backlash against me was raging out there.
Right now, I was soaking up this moment of rare, almost indulgent serenity.
"One seared scallops with lemon butter sauce, one black truffle risotto, and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc," Hebert told the waiter without even glancing at the menu. His voice was steady and rich.
I froze for a beat.
My God. Every single thing he ordered—down to the New Zealand Marlborough white wine—was exactly what I loved. Brian couldn't remember in three years of marriage that I hated cilantro. B
