She caught her soft smile in the mirror, then shook her head like she was embarrassed by her expression, and kept walking.
When she entered the living room, her eyes immediately landed on him.
Lyle was already waiting, dressed in—of course—the matching colors. Dark brown short-sleeve button-up, tucked neatly into light beige trousers, and finished off with chunky black loafers that somehow made him look like a damn magazine ad for "husband material of the century."
He turned toward her at the sound of her steps, and the way his face lit up—instantly, effortlessly—made her stomach do something that felt suspiciously like somersaults.
It still surprised her sometimes. How easily he smiled now. Not like before—back when every smile felt like a negotiation. Now it was like the sun breaking through clouds.
And dammit, she loved seeing it.
