Bella led him quietly into the kitchen, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist as if she were afraid he might disappear if she let go. The house had sunk into a deep, peaceful silence. Most of the lights were off, leaving only the soft glow from under the cabinets and a faint lamp near the counter. Shadows stretched lazily across the marble floor, and the world felt hushed and intimate, as though the night itself was giving them privacy.
She released his hand and moved with gentle familiarity, opening drawers without sound, checking the stove, her movements slow but purposeful. There was already food prepared from earlier, neatly stored away, and she reheated it carefully. Leo leaned against the counter, watching her without saying a word. There was something deeply domestic and tender about the way she fussed over the food, tasting a little, adjusting the heat, making sure everything was just right for him.
