A Woman Fills In For A Wedding Singer, Never Guessing The Millionaire Guest Will Fall Hard
The Invitation to Truth
Three days later, Cara was shelving new arrivals in the fiction section of Whitmore Books when the bell above the door chimed.
She didn’t look up. She was elbow-deep in alphabetizing and the last thing she needed was another customer asking if they had the movie tie-in cover.
“Excuse me,” a voice said behind her, low and familiar.
She froze with a paperback in hand, her pulse jumping. Slowly, she turned.
Yarden stood there in a dark coat, no tie this time, his collar slightly askew like he dressed in a hurry.
His eyes swept the shelves and landed on her.
“This place smells like paper and cinnamon,” he said. “I didn’t expect that. It’s nice.”
Cara blinked. “You found me.”
“You gave me enough breadcrumbs,” he said, glancing at the store sign behind her. “And I know how to follow a trail.”
She straightened. “Are you stalking me or just aggressively punctual?”
“Neither. I was nearby for a meeting and thought I’d take a chance.”
“I work Thursdays and Sundays,” she said. “So technically this is a lucky guess.”
He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to the book in her hand.
“The Great Gatsby?”
“Re-shelving. Someone left it in the cookbook section,” she said. “Unless Nick Carraway was secretly a chef, I don’t think he belongs there.”
Yarden chuckled. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Cara raised an eyebrow. “Wow. No buildup?”
“I already know I want to see more of you,” he said. “Waiting seems inefficient.”
She looked around the store. It was quiet, just the owner up front flipping through invoices.
“And what if I say no?” she asked.
“Then I’ll go buy a dozen books I won’t read and come back next week to try again.”
She tilted her head. “Not subtle, are you?”
“I’ve never had much patience for pretending I’m not interested in something I want.”
Her stomach did a small backflip. “I get off at 6. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” he said, already pulling out a card from his coat pocket.
It wasn’t the same one as before. This one had the name of a restaurant printed in gold lettering.
She recognized it—the kind of place with dishes that didn’t have prices and waiters who judged your shoes.
“Won’t this place judge me if I wear boots instead of heels?” she asked.
“They can judge all they want,” he said. “You’ll still be the most interesting thing in the room.”
He left before she could answer, disappearing out the door with the same quiet confidence he’d arrived with.
By the time 6:00 rolled around, Cara had changed into a sleek black skirt and blouse she kept in her locker for emergencies.
Her boots were scuffed, but she’d polished them as best she could in the breakroom with a paper towel and hand lotion.
The restaurant sat on the corner of a tree-lined street—all glass and shadows. It was the kind of place you passed and assumed you couldn’t afford to breathe near.
Inside, everything gleamed. The host greeted her by name without asking.
“Mr. Ellis is waiting,” he said, leading her past tables of quiet diners and flickering candles.
Yardan stood when he saw her, his jacket already draped over the back of his chair.
He’d rolled his sleeves to his forearms, a small silver watch peeking out.
“You clean up well,” she said as she sat.
“I was about to say the same.”
The waiter arrived, poured water, and disappeared again.
“Do you eat in places like this often?” she asked, glancing at the menu.
Most of the words looked like ingredients from a science experiment.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But not usually for the food.”
“Then what for?”
“Privacy. People here don’t eavesdrop and the tables aren’t crammed together.”
“So you bring your dates here so they don’t overhear each other?”
He laughed. “I don’t date much. Work makes it difficult.”
“What kind of development do you do?”
He leaned back. “Right now, a private resort in Santorini. Before that, a tech campus in Austin. I buy spaces and turn them into something better.”
Cara lifted an eyebrow. “That sounds massive.”
“It can be.”
She set her menu down. “So you’re one of those guys who buys half a city block and builds a luxury tower no one can afford to live in?”
Yardan took a sip of his drink before answering.
“I prefer to think of it as elevating underused potential.”
“Sounds like a real estate TED Talk.”
He grinned. “I’m not trying to sell you anything, Cara.”
“You sure? Because this place looks like a showroom.”
He leaned forward. “If I wanted to impress you with money, I’d have sent a car and booked the rooftop.”
“I asked you here because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
Cara swallowed hard. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re smart. I know you’re quick and I know when you sing, it’s not about performance.”
“It’s like you’re letting people see something you usually keep locked away.”
She stared at him, her voice caught in her throat.
“That’s not fair,” she said after a moment. “You’re not supposed to be this good at reading people.”
“Only when I care about the answer.”
Dinner arrived and for a while they ate in silence—the kind that didn’t feel empty.
Afterward they walked outside. The street was quiet and the air was crisp.
Yarden reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small square box.
“I saw this earlier today and thought of you,” he said.
Inside was a silver pendant shaped like an open book.
Cara blinked. “You bought jewelry for someone you’ve seen twice?”
He shrugged. “Some things happen fast. Doesn’t make them less real.”
She stared at the necklace then at him. “You’re intense. You know that?”
“Only when it matters.”
She closed the box and held it tight.
“I don’t know what this is yet.”
“I’m not asking for forever,” he said. “I’m asking for next time.”
Cara didn’t answer right away, but when he leaned in and kissed her cheek, she didn’t pull away.
When she walked home, she kept the box in her coat pocket and her hand wrapped around it the whole way.
