The food arrived plated like art—delicate slices of seared duck with rosemary glaze, small towers of truffle pasta, and crimson wine poured into glass goblets that caught the candlelight just right.
Catherine stirred her fork gently through the pasta, her appetite thin.
"So," she said carefully, trying to bridge the silence, "how's your week been? You said it's been busy—anything exciting?"
Maverick didn't look up right away. He tapped something into his phone, then finally set it aside.
"Just work. Meetings, reports, some new clients," he said, picking up his wine. "Same old stuff. It's exhausting."
Catherine nodded. "Still… I'm proud of you."
He gave a half-smile, short and tired.
Then, she shifted in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. "My week's been a bit… heavy. Dad's condition hasn't improved. He had trouble breathing a few nights ago—"
"Catherine," Maverick cut in, not unkindly, but firmly. "Can we not do this right now?"
She blinked, caught off guard. "Do what?"
"This," he said, waving a hand vaguely. "Every time we're together, it's about your dad. The hospital, the meds, the stress. It's... it's always that."
Catherine's mouth opened, a quiet breath caught on her tongue.
"I get that it's hard," he continued. "I really do. But it feels like I'm carrying it with you. And I didn't sign up to be in a relationship where I have to take care of both you and your father."
The words hung in the air, bitter and sharp.
Catherine stared at him, speechless. A hundred things rose in her chest—hurt, confusion, a sudden chill. But she swallowed them all.
"I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice quiet. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I just thought… you'd want to know how he's doing."
Maverick looked away, exhaling hard. "It's fine. Forget it."
She nodded slowly and went back to her food. The rest of her story—the overtime at the café, her father's sudden fever, the moment she cried in the stockroom because she couldn't afford both his medication and groceries—remained unspoken.
And that's when they were interrupted.
"Yo, Mav!"
Joshua pulled Maverick into a quick handshake, clapping him on the back with familiar ease. Then he turned to Catherine, his expression shifting into something softer.
"So, this is Catherine," he said, offering his hand. "Wow. Mav wasn't lying. You're even more beautiful in person."
Catherine's cheeks flushed as she shook his hand, her voice shy but polite. "Thank you. That's really kind."
Maverick's jaw tightened.
He forced a chuckle, but his eyes didn't leave Joshua.
Joshua, meanwhile, smiled again, clearly trying to ease the mood. "And I love your eyes—what are they? Grey? You don't see that every day. Beautiful and rare."
Maverick's hand slid off the table and curled into a loose fist beneath it.
He knew Joshua. Knew exactly how he looked when he spotted someone that caught his interest—even when he was taken. The way he smiled, the way he tilted his head slightly when he talked. And right now, all of it was aimed at Catherine.
Before Maverick could say anything, Karen stepped forward, her smile wide and sugar-coated.
"Adorable look, by the way," she said, her eyes skimming over Catherine's jeans and sneakers. "Very… simple."
Catherine gave a small smile. "Thank you. I came straight from work."
"Oh, right. The café," Karen added quickly, voice full of mock-sweetness. "Maverick mentioned it once. You're a barista, right?"
Catherine nodded. "Yes."
Karen gave a slow, deliberate blink. "That's sweet. I admire how grounded you are. Most women I know would kill for a chance to dress up for a place like this—but hey, not everyone has… options."
The table stilled.
Even Joshua's smile slipped. He gave Karen a quiet, warning glance.
Trying to soften the tension, Joshua turned back to Catherine. "Well, I think it's refreshing. You've got that natural elegance—you don't need all the extra. Seriously, don't let anyone make you feel out of place."
Maverick's lips thinned, jealousy rising like smoke in his chest.
He didn't like how Catherine smiled, just a little, at Joshua's kindness. Didn't like the way Joshua looked at her like she was more than just the girl from the coffee shop. He knew that look. He used to wear it himself.
Karen, watching all of this, looked like she'd tasted something bitter.
And so, with a glint in her eye, she said loudly:
"By the way—where's Rose tonight?"
Maverick flinched.
Joshua frowned, confused. "Karen—"
"What? Just asking. You and Rose are always working late, aren't you?" she said innocently. "I thought she'd be here too. Since you two are so… close."
Catherine stilled, wine glass halfway to her lips.
Rose.
She'd heard the name before. Once, maybe twice. A vague mention in Maverick's stories about work. But never like this. Never with that look on someone else's face.
Maverick's voice was clipped. "She's at the office. Working. That's all."
Karen smirked. "Oh, of course."
Joshua cleared his throat. "Alright, we'll get out of your way. Don't want to interrupt your night."
He nodded at Catherine with a soft smile. "It was really nice meeting you."
"You too," she said gently.
As the couple walked off—Karen's heels clicking like knives against the marble—Catherine stared at her plate, heart heavier than before.
"I'm sorry about that," Maverick muttered, not really looking at her.
"It's fine," she replied softly.
But the ache didn't leave her chest. And now, it had a name.
Rose.