Chapter 203: Nothing Can Spoil Our Date

We finished off every last bite of the ribs and wiped the cherry pie plate clean, both of us admitting that rural diner food hit a spot no five-star city restaurant ever could.

As we leaned back in the booth, the conversation shifted naturally into quieter, deeper waters. Chloe talked about her studies, her face lighting up with that sharp, effortless intelligence as she mentioned she was getting close to finishing her Master’s program.

"That’s huge, Chloe," I smiled, reaching across the vinyl table to take her hand. "I’m proud of you."

It was refreshing seeing her like this—relaxed, smooth, without a trace of stress or burden on her shoulders. For a girl who usually carried so much responsibility, she looked completely at peace sitting across from me.

"What about you?" she asked, her dark eyes searching mine thoughtfully. "Where’s your head at these days?"

"Honestly? I’m just living," I replied, squeezing her hand. "Enjoying the ride, building things, being here with you guys. Keeping it chilled."

Chloe smiled softly, but her thumb gently traced the back of my hand as a brief, contemplative look flashed across her face. "Ethan... do you ever think about the future? Like... where all of this is going long-term?"

She paused, catching herself, and let out a light, timid laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly under the warm neon glow. "Or... maybe that’s way too early to ask. Forget I said anything."

"If you feel like it’s too early, we don’t have to jump into it right now," I said gently, offering her a warm, reassuring look. "No pressure, Chloe. We’ve got all the time in the world."

She let out a soft breath, her smile returning full force as the subtle tension melted away. "Yeah. You’re right."

We sat back, letting the quiet rhythm of the diner wash over us as the afternoon light outside slowly began to fade into a rich, golden twilight.

We were just settling into another comfortable silence when the diner’s front doors swung open hard. A rough-looking man strutted inside, flanked by a crew of three beefy guys built like brick walls. They radiated trouble from a mile away, wearing matching sneers as they bypassed the dining area entirely and headed straight for Mrs. Gable’s back office.

Within seconds, muted, angry raised voices began echoing out from behind the closed wooden door.

I let out a long sigh, taking a slow sip of my drink. "Not our business. We’re on a date."

Chloe tilted her head, her sharp lawyer instincts clearly kicking in as her eyes darted toward the hallway. "Yeah... but aren’t you even a little curious what that’s about?"

"Probably just some local scumbags trying to squeeze money out of the poor business owners around here," I said, leaning back against the red vinyl.

"Shouldn’t we help?" Chloe asked, crossing her arms, her protective streak flaring up. "At least figure out what they want?"

"Country towns run on gossip," I replied smoothly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. " give it an hour and the news will spread to every table in this building. We’ll find out what’s going on and figure out how to help then. For now, zero confrontation."

Chloe stared at me for a second, then let out a rich, genuinely impressed laugh. "Look at you being all rational and strategic. The old Ethan would’ve impulsively marched over there, kicked the door off its hinges, and slapped them across the face with a fat stack of cash to make them leave."

I grinned, rubbing the back of my neck with an honest smirk. "Trust me, I thought about doing exact that. But there is no way I’m letting some low-life extortionists ruin my date with you."

Chloe smirked, leaning across the table with her eyes locked onto mine. "Smooth with your words."

Before I could answer, the back office door slammed open against the wall.

The boss of the crew stormed out, his face twisted in a smug, nasty sneer, while the owner scrambled after him, hands raised in desperation.

"I’m done listening to your pathetic excuses!" the boss barked, his voice booming over the quiet murmur of the diner. "If you don’t have my full payment by noon tomorrow, this entire diner belongs to me. Got it?!"

"Please, just give us a few more days!" the old man begged, his voice trembling. "The weekend crowd will bring in—"

"No more time!"

The leader turned on his heel to exit, but as he passed the small podium, his eyes landed on the pristine, high-end studio microphone and concert speakers sitting near the stage. A nasty, greedy grin spread across his face.

"What’s this?" he sneered, kicking the base of the speaker stand. "You claim you don’t have my cash, but you’re out here buying brand new equipment for ya’ stupid night show? Unbelievable."

He jerked his chin toward his two heavy musclemen. "Take it all. Consider it a down payment."

The thugs stepped forward, reaching out to rip the audio cables out of the jacks.

I felt a tight, burning sensation in my chest. I could ignore the local posturing, but watching a bunch of low-life extortionists try to seize expensive studio gear that I put there? Not on my watch.

"Not while I’m here," I said, my voice cutting through the diner like a sharp blade.

The entire diner instantly went dead silent. Utterly frozen.

I slid out of the red vinyl booth, buttoned my leather jacket, and walked straight over to the stage, stopping less than two feet away from the leader, towering over him face-to-face.

The leader blinked, surprised by the sheer nerve of someone stepping up, before his expression hardened into a cold glare. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"I’m the guy telling you that’s my equipment you’re trying to steal," I replied, my voice dangerously calm as I squared my shoulders. "And if any of your boys lay so much as a single finger on those stands, you won’t be begging for money tomorrow—you’ll be begging for an ambulance."