The waiter's voice was suddenly nearby. "That is a foie gras medallion enclosed in Earl Grey cotton candy," he said smoothly.

"Almost like a dessert," I whispered. The unexpectedness of the combination was perfect.

"Let me feed the rest of it to you," Jax's voice purred softly, and my lips parted to let the morsel in. Melting, sensuous, the foie gras started to make me feel urges to do things in the dark that we'd gone without for far too long.

The waiter cleared his throat, and I suddenly felt myself blushing. Did the blind waiters' heightened perception apply to my imagination, too? "We have here your entrées," he said. "Be careful, you may wish to eat this with your hands, rather than utensils."

I reached out toward my place setting, and felt dried petals, a whole dried flower, then another and another. Roses? When I moved my fingers further, they brushed more petals—these ones wet and smooth. Jax let out a short laugh of appreciation. "Maybe that's why it happens," he said, sounding bemused.

"Why what happens?"

"Why the dark scares us once we're older. We learn to fear the unknown, to think that it's out to get us somehow." His voice was intense, lost in thought. "It's been a long time since I've had to think of food as an unknown. I think I like this place."

"How do you know so much about food, anyway?"I asked. "I'm assuming it's because rock stars get the royal treatment more often than accountants."

"You want the truth?" He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "I worked in kitchens when I ran away from home. They were the only place I could get work as a scrawny kid with no ID. I tried to learn everything I could. Especially from this one guy, my friend, who kind of took me under his wing. If he'd had his way, I'd be a chef right now."

His answer wasn't at all what I'd expected—and more than that, I was surprised to hear him talking so freely about his childhood. Was it the darkness that was making him more open? "Why didn't you?"

"Sky, mostly," he admitted quietly. "After we started playing music, she wanted to start a band, and that kind of became my life. I still worked enough at the restaurant to make the money I needed, and I kept learning, but I just couldn't put in the hours to learn what I should to run my own kitchen."

I was glad it was dark so Jax couldn't see how shocked his openness was leaving me. We'd come so far together, but there was still so much I didn't know about him. Maybe this was a sign of his growing trust? My heart warmed at the thought.

I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten a bite of my entrée. Picking up one of the dry roses, I popped it into my mouth, where it dissolved into a crunchy, tangy bitterness. It was fantastic. "Whoa, what are these dry flowers?"

"Pretty sure they're brussels sprouts," Jax said nonchalantly. "Arranged like roses—which is pretty clever. They are flowers, after all."

"Nuh uh," I said, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn't see it. "No way is that a brussels sprout. I've hated brussels sprouts since I was three years old."

"Waiter?" Jax said into the blackness. "What's the flower on our plates?"

"The dry flowers are brussels sprouts, roasted with lemon zest and a jasmine-infused sherry vinegar glaze," he said. "The wet flowers are bison tataki, seared with sesame paste."

"Holy shit," I breathed. "You were right. I liked brussels sprouts and didn't even know it."

"That's the nice thing about the dark," Jax said as I chewed a piece of the bison tataki, savoring the wild flavor. "Sometimes the unknown can surprise you—in a good way."

"Like you," I said, thinking aloud, then quickly put my hand up to my mouth.

"Me?"

"Well, yeah." I bit my lip, still feeling embarrassed by how wrong I'd been about our first impression. "When I was walking to your tour bus, you were an unknown. I figured I'd end up having a sleepless, thankless couple of weeks with an irresponsible, entitled rock star."

"But once you found out we'd already met?"

"To tell you the truth, I thought the same thing."

"And how about now?" Jax's voice was warm, and he stroked soft fingers against my wrist, sending shivers of arousal through my body.

"Now. . ." I thought about what we'd gone through together—the hotel suite in Vegas, the hospital room in California. I took a deep breath to try and steady myself. "Now I can't imagine letting you go."

Jax's hand clasped around mine tightly. "Who said anything about letting go?"

I held his hand quietly for a moment. "I . . . I know it's not going to be the same in a few days, when the tour's over," I said, trying to keep my voice level and calm. "I'm going back to New York, you're staying here to record your next album. It's just. . ."

"What?" Jax asked, his voice calm and assured. "You know I'll come back to New York, right? I do live there."

"Yeah. I know," I said, struggling for the right words. "It's just—I don't know what's going to happen when I leave."

In the darkness, something brushed against my cheek, and I flinched before realizing it was Jax's hand, caressing my cheek. "You're overthinking it." His voice was warm and relaxed. "It's going to be a few weeks in Los Angeles, and I'll be laying down tracks with the band the whole time. Then I'm going to come back to New York. While I'm gone, we'll talk on the phone and it will be fine."

My heart beat faster. We'd been avoiding talking about our relationship for so long, and I had been so careful about getting my hopes up. "So you're telling me that once you're back, we'll . . ."

" . . . Pick things up where we left off? That's what I'm expecting. Unless you'd be too embarrassed to tell your New York friends that you're slumming it with a guy in a band."

I laughed, relief coursing through my body. "Slumming it? Are you kidding? I'll be telling everyone!" Fumbling for my purse next to the chair, I searched with my fingers for the envelope I'd placed inside just before we'd left the bus.

"Here," I said, placing the square envelope in his hand. "I want you to have this."

"What is it?"

"Just . . . something I've been working on for the last few days. A present."

"It's not going to do me much good to open it in the dark," he said, sounding confused.

"It's not for you to open here," I said quickly. "It's for after the tour. When we're apart."

The envelope rustled and I felt Jax's hand close around mine again. "Thank you, Riley. I'll treasure it—whatever it is."

We shared a silence together as I reveled in the removal of a huge weight I hadn't even realized I had been carrying. I was so glad to be done with our conversation about what would happen between us after the tour. And that Jax sounded so sure about it.

Drunk with warm feelings, I felt a torrent of words escaping from my lips before I could stop them. "I'll miss you so much, Jax. I . . . I love you."