From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 162

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 162**

“Roman—” I gasped, my throat tightening as I reached for my glass of water, feeling the cool surface against my palm. “You can’t just say things like that. We’re in public!”

“Why not?” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes casually scanning the room with an air of cool indifference. “We could clear this place out if we really wanted to. Every last one of them.”

“Roman!” My foot shot out, connecting with his leg under the table. “Keep your voice down, you lunatic!”

He chuckled, unphased by my outburst, reclining with a smug tilt of his lips that made my heart race with annoyance. “You’re so shy.”

“I am not! You’re just… really shameless.” I darted a furtive glance around, my heart pounding as I hoped desperately that no one had overheard our exchange. “And friends don’t say things like that, you idiot.”

His laughter deepened, a low, rough sound that twisted into something more mischievous. “Game over then.” He tossed his napkin onto the table with a decisive flick. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” I sputtered, my voice rising in disbelief. “I haven’t even finished eating!”

“You’re lying.” His gaze locked onto mine, piercing and unwavering. “You’ve been pushing food around your plate since we sat down.”

My mouth fell open in shock. He had read me like an open book, the truth laid bare before him. “Fine. But if we’re leaving, we’re getting ice cream first.”

Roman’s smirk softened, just a fraction. “Anything you want, my lady.”

As we entered the ice cream parlor, the atmosphere buzzed with life and color. Laughter and shouts from children filled the air, families crammed into booths, sticky fingers reaching for treats. The giant TV mounted above the counter blasted cheerful pop music, its infectious energy bouncing through the vibrant space.

It was the kind of place that seemed to clash with Roman’s usual demeanor, yet he looked perfectly at home—his dark suit contrasting sharply against the neon signs, a figure of control amidst the chaos.

“What flavor?” he asked, his voice smooth and casual.

“Vanilla,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation. “What about you?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

I couldn’t help but smile, my heart warming despite myself. My gaze drifted toward a booth tucked away in the corner. A little girl sat there, her blonde hair framing her face, completely engrossed in a book while the world around her roared with life. She seemed to be about the age my child would have been. A wave of grief washed over me, heavy and suffocating, like smoke filling my lungs.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the small, cold object that collided with my shin until it was too late.

“Sorry, miss! Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

I looked down to see a little boy in a Superman t-shirt, his brown curls bouncing as he scrambled at my feet, ice cream dripping onto my stilettos. His tiny hands clutched napkins, desperately trying to clean up the mess he had made.

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