I was on a date, and he was so sweet. When the bill came, the waitress looked at him and said, “Sir, your card was declined.” He turned pale. I smiled and paid. As we left, the waitress grabbed my arm and whispered…..

at the mere touch of a fork—but Elias had barely touched his risotto. He’d seemed distracted, his eyes darting toward the street outside the large plate-glass window, toward the blur of city lights. “Just some end-of-year stress,” he’d apologized with a tight, pale smile.

When the mahogany leather check presenter was placed on the table, Elias had smoothly pulled out a sleek, obsidian-black credit card. Clara noticed it had no numbers on the front. “I insist,” he’d said. It was a practiced gesture. She was already thinking about how to