Chapter 22

Alexander gave a quiet nod before stepping out of the hospital room.

When he glanced back and saw Evelyn still rooted in place, he returned to her side and took her hand firmly.

"What's holding you up?" Alexander asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement, his voice warm with suppressed laughter. "Come on. Let's head to City Hall."

"Wait—what?" Evelyn blinked, startled. Before she could protest, she was already following him, her thoughts spinning.

"Right now?" she managed, her voice tinged with disbelief. Everything was happening too quickly.

"Mhm. Problem?" Alexander turned, his gaze locking onto hers with quiet intensity.

She hesitated. "I—I don’t have my documents. I need to go home first."

At the mention of home, Evelyn’s eyes flickered downward, her fingers tightening slightly in his.

The word tasted bitter.

That place wasn’t home anymore.

Not after everything.

Alexander studied her for a long moment before squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"Then we’ll stop by," he said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Evelyn swallowed.

She wasn’t ready.

Not for this.

Not for any of it.

But Alexander was already leading her forward, his grip steady, his presence unshakable.

And for once, she let herself be pulled along.

The thought crossed Evelyn's mind like a cold whisper. Two whole days gone, and not a single call from home. I suppose I truly don't matter to them.

But she pushed the bitterness aside. Soon, she'd have a new family—one that might actually care.

"Would tomorrow work for the marriage license instead?" she suggested, her voice tentative.

Alexander paused, considering. "That's fine," he agreed after a beat.

Just then, Evelyn's stomach growled loudly enough to startle them both. She stiffened, pressing a hand to her abdomen as heat flooded her cheeks.

Mortified, she risked a glance at Alexander, terrified he'd find her uncouth.

To her shock, he simply said, "I'm starving too."

His tone was warm as he opened the car door for her. "Your choice—dine out or head straight home?"

Evelyn studied his expression. Not a trace of annoyance. Just quiet patience.

Relief trickled through her, though she hesitated to decide. "Whatever you prefer is fine with me," she murmured, not wanting to overstep.

The evening stretched before them—uncertain, but not unwelcome.

Alexander noticed Evelyn seemed unusually tense. Without comment, he gave a quiet nod and took his place behind the wheel.

The car wound through Cresthaven's bustling downtown before finally pulling up beside a narrow, unmarked alley.

At its end stood a modest eatery—small in footprint but immaculately kept, its polished tables gleaming under warm pendant lights.

After ordering, Alexander excused himself to answer a call. By the time he returned, their dishes had just arrived.

The spread was simple but thoughtfully prepared—delicate flavors ideal for someone still regaining strength like Evelyn.

"You'll like this place. I'm here often," Alexander said, nudging the plates closer to her.

Evelyn eyed the portions. "This is too much for one person."

She slid a steaming bowl of lemongrass-infused soup toward him. "Share with me."

The owner emerged from the kitchen, her face brightening in recognition. "Alexander! Weren't you just here for breakfast?"

Evelyn's fork stilled mid-air as she shot him a questioning look.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably, an uncharacteristic flush creeping up his neck as he avoided the café owner's gaze. "You must be confusing me with someone else," he said smoothly, though his fingers tapped restlessly against the table. "Business must be keeping you busy."

The owner frowned, scratching her temple. "Could've sworn it was you," she muttered. "First customer at dawn, before the birds even started chirping. We had a whole conversation."

She distinctly remembered asking, "Up this early for work?"

And him answering, "Yeah. Got someone important to meet later."

Now, she second-guessed herself. Maybe she had mistaken him. Still, something didn’t sit right.

Beside him, Evelyn’s grip on her fork tightened. She had been about to slide the last bite of her omelet toward Alexander—his claim of hunger a transparent excuse to ease her discomfort.

The realization hit her like a whisper in the dark.

Does he actually… care?

Her fingers twisted the hem of her skirt absently, a strange warmth unfurling in her chest. Maybe—just maybe—this man wasn’t the ice-cold stranger she’d assumed him to be.

Before she could dwell on it, Alexander turned to her, his gaze sharp and deliberate.

"After this," he said, voice low, "let’s go get your documents together."