Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 293

I had thirty minutes after closing to get everything ready. Not ideal, but I worked well under pressure. And honestly, this part came easy. We’d hosted some anniversaries here, surprise dates, candlelit dinners for couples who wanted to pretend the world didn’t exist.

So I knew exactly how to get the mood right.

It’s crazy, the things you start paying attention to when you’re in love, the details you never cared about before suddenly matter like hell.

I start by arranging the roses, I fan them out in the center of the table, low enough that we wouldn't have to lean around them to see each other. Two candles on either side, tall, slim, elegant. I light them and watch the flames sway before I uncork the wine and set the bottle at an angle that looks effortless but took me three tries.

Then I plate two servings of the night’s special. When I finally step back, I squint at the whole setup. Is it too obvious? He won’t expect a proposal, not even close. It isn’t anywhere on his mental map that I’d do it now. But what if he walks up the stairs, sees all this, and instantly knows?

My phone buzzes.

Xander....Five minutes out.

My stomach flips. I drag a hand through my hair, glance around the room like a man about to be graded on a final exam he created himself. Then I flick through playlists until I land on something soft, slow and warm.

My hand goes instinctively to my pocket.

The ring is still there.

I’d splurged on it, way more than I planned. I had less than an hour to pick one before I had to be back at the restaurant, and then I saw it, the way it caught the light like it had been waiting for me. I imagined it on his hand....my mark, my claim. Like a brand, if I’m honest. Something that said he’s taken by me.

I go downstairs, nerves making me restless. Then I hear the low hum of a car pulling up outside. Everything goes still. The restaurant is dimmed and quiet, the upstairs glowing with candlelight.

A while ago, I’d filled one of the three picture frames Xander gave me with a photo of us outside the restaurant on opening night. And I immediately knew exactly what I wanted to put in the other two. Soon.

The front door eases open. A head of familiar dark hair appears first, then Xander’s curious eyes as he peeks in.

Then that smile spreads across his face, the one that always settles everything inside me, like sunlight sliding over dark water, like it was made just to catch me.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of one of my jackets. The one he stole a couple of days ago because, according to him, it smells like me and helps on days when work “sucks the soul out of him.” Allegedly, one deep inhale of my scent and he’s fine again.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

“Hey.”

He lets out a little laugh, eyes flicking to the stairway, to the soft glow coming from above, then back to me. “Something tells me somebody missed me and maybe secretly planned a date?”

I scoff under my breath, amused. “Well, your ‘something’ isn’t wrong.”

His eyebrows lift, impressed, teasing, already walking toward me. And my heart is a grenade with the pin halfway out. He slides off his backpack, letting it thud to the floor, and then he’s closing the distance and straight into my arms.

It’s always like this lately. The second we’re in the same room, something in both of us snaps loose. We have to touch...hands, mouths, anything. Like gravity works differently between us.

His lips find mine, warm and hungry and familiar, and the kiss hits hard....perfect in that way that makes time feel stupid and unnecessary.

When he finally pulls back, breath brushing my mouth, his fingers still hooked in the front of my shirt, he asks, like he always does.

“How was work?”

That question has become its own kind of intimacy. Even the nights I go home exhausted and find him asleep, he still manages to asks. Like he needs to hear me talk about something normal, something mine.

I grin. “It was great. Someone asked to speak to the chef personally tonight.”

His eyes widen a little, interest sparking. “Ooh, fancy. Did you sign an autograph on their napkin?”

“Very funny,” I mutter, nudging his chin with mine. “They just wanted to tell me how much they loved the food.”

“Oh?” he tilts his head, smirking. “So basically, they were flirting.”

“They were seventy.”

He rubs his thumb over the collar of my chef’s coat, eyes softening. “Well, I’m impressed. Look at you, charming the masses.”

I lean in, brushing my lips against his jaw. “Don’t worry, I save all the premium charm for you.”

He smiles, quiet and full of something warm. “You’d better.”

He takes a small step back, eyes still glinting, “If I remember correctly, I was promised food if I came here.”

I lace my fingers through his, and he lets me tug him up the stairs. But the second we reach the landing, he slows. His eyes catch on the flowers, the candles, the plates I’ve set out, the soft music threading through the quiet. He turns to me, brows lifting, voice low.

“Did you do all this?”

I nod once. He looks back at the room, something flickering in his eyes for a second.

“I can’t remember the last date we went on.”

“I can,” he says before I can answer. “Four months ago. The Vietnamese place.”

A short, reflexive chuckle escapes me. “Yeah....four months ago.”

I watch him in that soft light, the way it catches the edges of his face, makes him glow in a way that’s almost cruel. I open my mouth to say something, I don’t even know what...but then he pauses, voice soft and careful.

“Can I use the washroom first?”

I nod, swallowing whatever words I had. “Yeah....yeah, of course.”

I watch him back away slowly, his eyes flicking to mine for a second before he turns. Once he’s gone, I slip my hands into my pockets and feel the small box there, the weight of it heavier than it should be. My fingers curl around it, and I blow out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

My hands tremble slightly, and my heart is hammering against my ribs, a chaotic mix of nerves and something far sweeter....excitement that makes every nerve ending feel alive. I close my eyes for a second, letting it all settle, letting the moment stretch, knowing that in just a few minutes, everything’s about to change.