Are we cooking?

I walked through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel with deliberate slowness, each step feeling heavier and more electric than the last.

My heart pounded in rhythm with the click of my heels against the polished floor. The faint hum of the hotel's nightlife buzzed in the background, but it barely registered. All I could think about was her.

The note in my hand was slightly crumpled from where I'd clutched it, a lifeline to the thrilling unknown waiting for me.

One hour, it had said. It felt like the longest hour of my life. Now, as I neared the kitchen circled on the map, my breath hitched. I could already imagine her—tattooed arms, sharp gaze, the way her presence filled every corner of a room.

I stopped just outside the door, smoothing my dress one last time. The silky fabric clung to me, a perfect choice for tonight.