In her mind, French cuisine was the epitome of elegance and romance. For Joseph to take time out of his busy workday to pick her up for a French lunch—what should have been a simple meal—suddenly made her chest burn with a new warmth. It felt like a grand, formal date with someone she was falling in love with.
Joseph finally found a parking spot and turned off the engine. As he got out of the car, he reassured Vivica, “Relax. Even if you use the wrong fork, nobody’s going to laugh at you.”
Vivica got out and saw him waiting for her. She jogged around the front of the car to meet him.
“Are you sure? What if I use it the wrong way? Will they kick us out?”
Joseph took her hand, his touch feeling completely natural as he led her toward the elevators. A smile played on his lips. “You can try it and see what happens.”
Feeling the warmth of his hand, Vivica’s mind drifted for a moment.
“You’re just trying to set me up, aren’t you? If I get thrown out, it’ll be embarrassing for you too,” she muttered, trailing slightly behind him.
They reached the elevator lobby, and after pressing the ‘up’ button, Joseph glanced down at their intertwined hands. “Why are your hands so cold? Are you feeling chilly?”
“I’m not cold. The office has heating. It’s just how women are in the winter—cold hands and feet.”
Vivica was simply stating a fact, but Joseph committed it to memory. From then on, every winter, he would set the underfloor heating in their home a little higher. He would rather crank the heat up until he was sweating than let his wife feel the chill in her hands and feet.
The Michelin-starred French restaurant was on the top floor of the building, and the table Joseph had reserved was by the window.
As Vivica sat down and looked out, she felt a wave of dizziness.

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