Evander's POV
The man turned, finally noticing Odette—small, elegant, infuriatingly calm in that pretty way that always made my chest tighten. His expression softened at the sight of her, as if her fragile appearance gave him permission to breathe again.
"What would you like, miss?" he asked politely, voice lowering into that gentle tone people used around breakable things.
Odette's lips parted slightly. For a heartbeat, she didn't speak. Then, in that clear, smooth voice of hers, she said, "You don't have anything I want."
"Ah—yes, of course, ma'am. If nothing on the menu suits you, our chef can prepare something special. What would you like?"
She went still. And then, for the first time in a long while, I saw something rare flicker across her face—surprise. Genuine, unguarded surprise.
Her chin tilted slightly, as if she were trying to read whether or not the man was serious. When she finally spoke again, her voice was hesitant at first. "Anything?"
"Yes, ma'am."
