Clos Maggiore was everything she had imagined—an oasis of romance tucked away in the city's bustling heart.

The low hum of soft conversation and the faint clinking of glasses created an intimate symphony that blended with the quiet crackle of the fireplace in the corner. The air was fragrant with fresh food, delicate floral notes, and the aroma of drinks.

Overhead, fairy lights twinkled like a constellation against the soft canopy of white blossoms and greenery, which hung artfully from the ceiling. It felt like stepping into a dream, a secret garden hidden within the city. The tables were adorned with white linens, candles flickering in the center, casting a golden glow over everything.

Charlie glanced around, taking in the dressed patrons seated at their tables.

Most were couples, their laughter and soft whispers weaving together in a melody of company. The men wore sharp suits or casual styles with polished shoes, and the women were dressed nicely enough to present themselves for a date night. Her stomach tightened with excitement and nerves as she became aware of herself.

I don't stand out, she thought, and her gaze darted to John.

She smoothed her hands over her sweater, wondering if she looked too casual for a place like this. But before her self-conscious thoughts could spiral, John shifted closer to her. His hand found hers, his large, calloused fingers intertwining with her smaller ones. His eyes met hers, with a soft smile tugging at his lips' corners.

"Relax," he said smoothly. "I got you."

She glanced down at their joined hands. As if sensing her thoughts, John squeezed her hand before leading her toward the hostess stand.

"We have a reservation under Price," John said, his deep voice carrying over the gentle murmur of the restaurant.

The hostess, a young woman with a polished smile, nodded and scanned her tablet. "Oh, yes, Mr. Price. Right this way."

John held her hand as they followed the hostess through the restaurant.

They moved past tables occupied by couples engrossed in their little worlds. They reached their table—a secluded spot near the fireplace. John pulled out her chair, his hand brushing against her back as she sat down. She glanced up at him, catching the faint smile on his lips as he took the seat across from her.

As he removed his jacket before sitting down, his belt briefly revealed a compact holster tucked at his side. Her eyes caught it before she swallowed, oddly comforted by the fact that he was always prepared.

"You've been quiet," he said, his tone teasing but gentle.

Charlie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just... taking it all in. This place is beautiful."

"It is," John agreed. "But you're the one catching my attention tonight."

Her cheeks warmed again, and she looked at the menu before her, trying to hide her growing smile. "You're too smooth, you know that?"

"Not smooth, love," he replied, shrugging as he leaned forward. "Just honest."

Charlie dared to not look back up at him. Her lips pressed into a pout. The faint flicker of the candlelight danced across her face, highlighting her soft features as she tried to make sense of the endless options listed on the menu.

She let out a soft huff.

"This menu is... overwhelming," she admitted, her voice tinged with nervous laughter. "I don't know where to start."

John smirked, his hand resting casually on the edge of the table. "Pick whatever you fancy, love. Sky's the limit."

Charlie glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "That's easy for you to say. I've never been to a place this fancy. I don't even know what half of this means."

He chuckled. "Want me to order for you, then?"

She bit her lip, her gaze darting back to the menu. "No... no, I'll figure it out. Just give me a minute."

John raised an eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eyes making her blush. "Take your time."

For about a few minutes, Charlie pointed to one of the dishes. "Okay, I'll go with this. The roasted Cornish hen."

"Good choice," John said before turning his attention to the waiter, who came just in time. "I'll have the beef fillet with truffle mash."

The waiter jotted their orders before John looked at Charlie. "Now, let's settle somethin' else. Sweet or salty?"

Charlie blinked, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

"For your drink," he clarified, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Do you prefer somethin' sweet or salty?"

"Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing as she considered his question. "Sweet, I guess."

John nodded. He turned to the waiter and said, "We'll take a bottle of your best sweet wine. Somethin' light and easy."

The waiter gave a curt nod before disappearing.

"Wine?" Charlie raised an eyebrow with a smile.

"You'll like it," John said simply.

As they waited for their drinks, Charlie couldn't help but glance around the restaurant and then him. She noticed how easily John was at ease, while she still felt like a fish out of water.

"I feel like... I don't belong here," she admitted quietly.

"Don't say that, Charlie," he said, his voice low but firm. "You belong anywhere you want to be. Especially with me."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and she felt some of her nerves begin to melt away.

"You're good at this, you know," she said, her smile returning.

"Good at what?" he asked.

"Making me feel safe," she said honestly.

His gaze held hers, and his smirk returned. "That's the idea."

Their wine arrived shortly after, and the waiter poured the pale golden liquid into their glasses with practiced precision. John raised his glass to hers, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

"To us tonight," he said, his voice low and warm.

Charlie smiled, clinking her glass against his. "To us."

As they sipped their wine, Charlie set her glass down and continued.

"You know," she began slowly, "my mom would be shocked if I ever told her about this."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why's that?"

Charlie leaned slightly forward. "Because she doesn't know I'm dating you. She'd probably faint if she knew I was sitting here, in a place like this, with you."

John smirked, taking a slow sip of his wine before replying. "Someone like me?"

"You know," she teased, waving a hand at him. "Tall and mysterious. Basically, every mom's nightmare for their daughter."

He chuckled, his deep voice resonating warmly. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"No," she said. "But she'd definitely be surprised. Especially since you brought me to a place like this just to treat me."

John leaned back slightly, his smirk fading into something more genuine.

"You deserve it, Charlie. Don't think otherwise."

"I don't know if I deserve this."

"You do," John said firmly. "You're worth it. And I don't mind spoilin' you a bit, so don't go arguin' with me."

Charlie laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told," he added.

She smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing a little more. "If I ever told Hailey about this, though..." She let out a laugh, imagining her roommate's reaction. "She'd never let me hear the end of it."

"She sounds like a handful," John said, chuckling.

"Oh, she is," Charlie agreed. "But she means well. She'd probably be cheering me on right now, actually."

John grinned. "Sounds like she's got the right idea."

"Yeah, she'd probably pester me for every little detail about you. And then she'd tease me for being so smitten and you being overprotective."

John tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Am I?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Yeah."

He chuckled, his gaze warm as it stayed on her.

"Don't worry about what Hailey would think. This is about us, tonight. You and me."

Charlie smiled, her heart beating at his words. "You're dangerous, saying it like that."

"That's because I take it serious," John said, swirling the wine in his glass before taking another sip. "Now, tell me more about your mum. She sounds like someone with a strong opinion."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him playfully.

"Oh, she does. She's very protective, like you. Always has been. Sometimes a little too much."

"What does she do?" He asked, curious.

Charlie paused, her fingers grazing the rim of her glass. She wasn't sure how much to say, but she figured a little honesty wouldn't hurt.

"She works in... government," she said carefully.

"Government? What role does she play?" John asked.

"Uhm... My mom never talks much about what she does. It's always this... vague thing. She's busy with work, traveling, and on calls. She says it's confidential."

"Confidential? Must be some serious turf."

Charlie nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. "I think so. All I know is that it involves intelligence and sometimes military operatives. She deals with many cases, but she never goes into detail."

"Military intelligence?" he repeated, his brows furrowed.

"She's good at it," Charlie said, shrugged. "She's always working on something. But she's never really talked to me about it—like, really talked."

John nodded slowly, his mind turning over her words. There was something familiar about what she was describing, but he couldn't put his finger on it yet. The combination of intelligence work and military operatives felt like a thread he'd tugged on.

"And you've never asked her about it?" he pressed, his tone careful.

"I have," Charlie continued. "But she always says the same thing—that it's not something I need to worry about. She doesn't want me to know, I guess."

John hummed, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Sounds like she's got her reasons."

"Yeah," Charlie said, her smile turning wistful. "I wish I knew. It feels like there's this whole part of her life I don't get to see. But she's good at what she does. She's always been committed to her work—sometimes too much, if you ask me."

"And that's how you ended up here in London?" John asked, his voice was curious but not prying.

Charlie nodded.

"Yeah. She's the reason I got my tuition covered. She always made sure I had everything I needed for school. It's one of the things I appreciate most about her. She can be a bit... scary sometimes, but she's always looked out for me."

His gaze softened as he listened, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. "Sounds like she's done a lot for you."

"She has," Charlie said quietly. "Ever since... Dad hadn't made it home. Mom tried to be there for me. I was mostly raised by my grandparents, and when..." she paused, trying to regain her voice before continuing, "Mamaw Hazel passed away, it was only me and Papa until my aunt had to take me in when Papa was put into nursery home. I was raised with my cousins all through my age until I was ready to step out on my own."

John hummed, his lips curved into a sad smile. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather."

Charlie shook her head. "Me too. He's no longer in pain. Honestly, he wanted to be with Jesus and Mamaw Hazel and possibly see his dad and mum again. The funny thing is, both of my papas are retired veterans."

"Really?" John raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yeah," Charlie said, "My great-papa served in World War two. My Papa served in the Vietnam War. My dad served in Iraq and Afgathsitan and..." she paused and thought this through, "... trying to remember what else... oh! And the post 9/11."

"War on Terrorism," John pointed out without a flinch.

Her eyes widened.

"You served in that time?"

John nodded. "I did. Long before I ended up in the SAS. When the War on Terror was at its height, we worked alongside in joint operation."

Charlie tilted her head, her brown eyes locked on him. "What was it like?"

"A mix of fellowship and pressure, if I'm honest." John explained. "Different tactics, different approaches—but at the end of the day, we all had the same goal: take down insurgents and keep our men safe."

"Did you ever get to know the American teams well? Like, personally?"

John smirked faintly. "A few. You'd be surprised how much a good cup of tea or coffee can do for morale. Some of the lads on the U.S. side had a knack for making jokes, even in the worst situations. And there were times when their intel saved our arses. Respect goes both ways in situations like that."

"Sounds like you worked well with them," Charlie said.

"Most of the time," John replied. "Though, there were moments we didn't see eye to eye. But that's the nature of these things—you learn to adapt."

"That must've been hard. Being in the middle of it all, balancing everything." Charlie commented.

John shrugged. "It's what we signed up for. You focus on the mission and the men next to you. Everything else comes second."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his words. "I can't imagine what that must've been like."

"You get used to it," John replied, his tone lighter now. "But it's not all bad. I've got plenty of stories to tell from those days—though most would bore you."

Charlie giggled. "I don't think so. You've already got me hooked with this joint operation."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hooked, are you?"

"Well, yeah," she said. "I mean, it's not every day you get to hear firsthand stories from someone who's lived it."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got a knack for makin' a man feel like a hero."

Charlie tilted her head, her smile softening. "Maybe because you are."

For a moment, his smirk faded, replaced by something deeper—an appreciation he didn't often show.

"Careful with words like that, love. They tend to stick."

She laughed, the sound light and warm. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Mind if I ask you about your father?" John asked but quickly added. "You don't have to answer if you're not ready."

Charlie smiled at him, a sad and kind smile. She inhaled and exhaled before she answered.

"No, it's okay. I... I don't know much about what he does, but I do remember some tidbits of him serving in the Army on a special side."

"Special Ops. Green Berets." John pointed out.

"What are those?" Her eyes widened.

"You said your father served in the Army, right? It seemed like he was away often back then. Your father may have had his hands tied with high-profile cases that I can't declassify. But it sounded like I could meet with your father, and we may have something in common."

Charlie stared at him with a deep sense of pride and sorrow. She looked away, pressed her lips together, and then glanced back at him.

"Yes, he would," she said softly. "I wouldn't be here without them. To mum, we don't always see eye to eye, but I know she's trying to give me the best."

"That kind of drive runs in the family, doesn't it?" John smiled in return.

Charlie blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You've got that same spark," he said, his tone straightforward. "You're out here makin' your own way. Bet she's proud of you."

"Maybe," Charlie said softly. "She doesn't say it often, but I like to think she is."

"If she's got half a brain, love, she's proud as hell."

Charlie laughed softly. "You've got a way with words, you know that?"

"Just callin' it like I see it," John said with a smirk. "So, what does she think of you studying politics?"

"She supports it," Charlie said, relaxing a bit. "She's always been about making a difference, and I guess I got that from her."

"Good trait to have," John said, almost with a hint of admiration. "Shows you care about somethin' bigger than yourself."

For a moment, she smiled. A part of her wondered if John knew just how much his approval meant to her.

"She'd probably like you," Charlie said, her tone light and teasing.

"And why's that?" John replied.

"Because you're serious, and you don't take any crap from anyone," Charlie said, grinning. "She'd like that."

"Well, let's hope I never have to find out."

Charlie giggled. "Why not?"

"Because if she's as protective as you say, I'd probably get grilled worse than a recruit on their first day," John said dryly.

Charlie laughed, and the waiter arrived. Placing their dishes in front of them. The roasted Cornish hen on her plate was golden and crisp, surrounded by a bed of roasted vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and brussels sprouts glistening in a light herb butter. She looked at his plate, and it was perfectly seared beef fillet paired with creamy truffle mashed potatoes and a drizzle of rich red wine sauce. It was mouthwatering.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" John said, his smirk returning as he picked up his knife and fork.

"More than good," Charlie said, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful presentation of her dish. "This feels too fancy for me."

"Nothin's too fancy for you, love," John said, cutting into his fillet. "Now, dig in before it gets cold."

Charlie picked up her fork and took a bite of the hen. The flavors were rich and savory, the meat tender and perfectly cooked. She let out a soft hum of approval with each bite.

***

As the last bites of their meals disappeared, Charlie leaned back in her chair, savoring the wine's warmth and the food. She glanced across the table at John, who was finishing the last sip of his wine.

"What's the plan after dinner?" She began, her tone curious.

John set his glass down. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On you," he said simply, his deep blue eyes locking onto hers. "What do you want to do next?"

Charlie tapped her chin thoughtfully, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Hmm... Do you dance?"

John chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval. "Not much of a dancer. But I can do a slow dance. That's about it."

Charlie leaned forward. "Just slow dancing? No waltzing or salsa?"

He shook his head, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Afraid not. You'll have to settle for somethin' simple with me."

"Well," Charlie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "I used to be in a dance club growing up. I did a bit of cheerleading. So, you're lucky I can carry the rhythm for both of us."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Cheerleader, eh? I didn't peg you for the pom-poms and high kicks."

Charlie laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, trust me, I was all in. Even had the ribbons in my hair. But it's been a while since I've done anything like that."

"I'll bet you were good," John added.

"I held my own," she admitted with a smile. "But what about you? Any hidden talents besides slow dancing?"

"Plenty," John replied with a faint smirk, leaning back in his chair. "But I reckon you'll have to stick around to find out."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him.

"If you're interested," John leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I know a place where we can have fun and time to spend and count."

Her face lit up. "I'd love to check it out."

"Perfect," John said, his smile softening as he studied her. "Then, let's go."

As the waiter cleared their plates and brought the check, she watched him took care of the payment. He stood before her, extending his hand for her to grasp. Charlie took his hand, and his large, rough hand covered hers before their fingers intertwined.