Soft, heavy footsteps echo from the doorway.
That didn't make Celia jump, rather his muscles locked and his gaze flicking up as Cassel stepped into the kitchen.
He looked as exhausted as Celia felt, his dark jacket unbuttoned, hair slightly disheveled. He was holding a celeriac mug, clearly aiming for the coffee machine.
Cassel paused when he saw Celia standing there with a half empty plate. His eyes flicked from the stove, where the steam was still rising from the pan and then to Celia's face.
"Thought I was the only bastard starving at this hour," Cas said, his voice a low, rough gravel.
Celia stared at him for a second, then let out a quiet breath. Without saying a word, he grabbed a clean glass plate from the drying rack, picked up the tongs, and served a generous portion of the steaming pasta, making sure to scoop up extra meat and creamy sauce.
He slid the plate across the counter toward Cas.
Cas looked at the plate, then raised an eyebrow at Celia. "What's this?"
