The plates between them were still warm, still steaming slightly, as if reluctant to cool down in the golden glow of the Glass Garden.
Julie twirled her fork slowly, the seafood pasta glistening under amber lights. "This is… actually unreal."
Roman, reclining slightly in his chair with that deliberate calm of his, watched her with a satisfied half-smile. "Is that a compliment for me or the chef?"
She hummed thoughtfully, still chewing. "The chef… but you get points for knowing what I'd love without asking."
His smirk was subtle. "You're easier to read than you think."
Julie looked up at him over the rim of her glass. "I'm not easy."
"I didn't say that." His voice was smooth, low. "I said you're easier to read. That's different. You have moods. Tells. Layers. But your heart? It's honest."
Julie froze for half a second, her fork paused midway. Something in her eyes softened.
Then she smiled, almost to herself. "You really pay attention, don't you?"
