She froze under my touch. Went completely still. Her breathing changed, becoming shallower, faster. And then she looked up at me.
Those wide blue eyes. Clear as glass. Pupils dilating slightly as she met my gaze.
I felt that look everywhere. In my chest. In my stomach. Lower.
It's been a long time since I felt that kind of pull toward someone. That kind of visceral, physical want that bypasses thought entirely and goes straight to the body.
Not since Mira. Not since I was young and stupid enough to believe I deserved something good.
And that's a problem. A serious one.
I shouldn't have touched her. Shouldn't let myself think about her that way. I'm not worthy of something that sweet. That uncomplicated. That good and clean and untouched by the violence that defines my life.
The last time I let myself believe I could have something like that, she walked away. Left without looking back. Left me standing in a hallway with her hand slipping out of mine and a promise on my lips that I've been keeping ever since.
Left me with Luan. With duty. With an oath to keep him safe no matter what.
"This is fucking good," Luan says. He sets down his fork with a soft clink against the plate. "What is this?"
I don't know the name. "Lily?" I call.
Footsteps approach from the kitchen. Quick. Light. The soft padding of sneakers against hardwood. Someone moving efficiently through a space they're still learning but adapting to quickly.
"Yes?"
"The food is excellent," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "What are we eating?"
She blushes immediately. A soft pink spreading across her cheeks, starting at her neck and climbing upward until even her ears are tinged with color. A small smile appears. Shy. Pleased. Self-conscious.
Dimples form on either side of her mouth.
My chest tightens. Heat pools low in my stomach. Blood rushing south without my permission.
Those dimples. That blush. Both hit me harder than they should. Harder than anything has in years. Harder than I'm prepared for.
I want to make her blush again. Want to see those dimples deepen. Want to know what other reactions I could pull from herif I tried. If I touched her again. If I said the right words in the right tone.
Zot më ndihmoni.God help me.
"Marry me chicken orzo," she says. Her voice is soft. Almost apologetic, like she's embarrassed by the name. "I made sure to cut the chicken into very small pieces. So it's easier to eat."
My body reacts without permission. Pulse kicking up. Skin feeling too tight. Awareness sharpening to a fine point that centers entirely on her.
On the curve of her neck. The softness of her mouth. The way her shirt fits across her chest.
I force myself to look away. Clear my throat. "It's very good. Thank you."
"Thank you." She steps forward, starts gathering the empty plates. Her fingers brush the edge of mine as she takes my plate. Brief. Accidental. The barest whisper of contact.
But I feel it like a spark. Like static electricity jumping between us.
She leaves. Disappears back into the kitchen.
The room feels emptier without her. Quieter. Like someone turned down the volume on everything.
I look at Luan. His expression has changed completely. The contentment is gone. Wiped away. His jaw is tight. His hands rest flat on the table, fingers pressed hard against the wood.
"She's an excellent cook," I say carefully. Testing the waters. Trying to defuse whatever's building in him.
