"You're extraordinary, do you know that?"
She smiled, her gaze turning toward the stove where vegetables were still sizzling in the pan.
"You cook," she observed, sounding genuinely surprised.
"I do many things," I replied, grateful for the lighter turn in conversation. "Some better than others."
Before she could respond, I scooped her up into my arms again, drawing a startled squeak from her lips. She automatically wrapped her arms around my neck, her body warm against mine.
"I can walk, you know," she protested, though the laughter in her voice belied any real annoyance.
"I enjoy carrying my mate around," I answered, completely serious despite the amusement dancing in her eyes. "Indulge me."
I carried her to the table, a sleek glass surface with a view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights of the city spread out below us like earthbound stars, but they paled in comparison to the woman in my arms.
"Stay right there," I instructed, backing toward the kitchen. "I'm going to feed you, and then, if you're amenable, I'd very much like to take you back to bed."
"I'm amenable," she assured me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Veryamenable."
I returned to the stove, aware of her gaze following me across the room. The thread between us hummed contentedly, a physical manifestation of the connection that had brought us together.
I set two plates on the table, the simple stir-fry steaming between us. Nothing fancy, just vegetables, protein, and aromatics tossed together. I pulled my chair closer to hers before sitting, close enough that our knees pressed together under the table. She didn't move away. Instead, she leaned toward me slightly, the warmth of her body a constant reminder of our connection. With the city glittering below us through floor-to-ceiling windows, she looked like she belonged here.
"This smells amazing," she said, picking up her fork. When she took her first bite, her eyes closed briefly in appreciation. "Tasteseven better. You've been holding out on me with your hidden talents."
"I have many," I replied, enjoying the way her lips curved into a smile around her fork. "Some I'm eager to show you later."
She laughed, the sound warming me from the inside out. "I'm intrigued. But first—" She pointed her fork at me. "Tell me about your work. The sisters mentioned you own a fashion house?"
I nodded, taking a bite of my own food before answering. "Bespoke tailoring, primarily. Men's formal wear, though we've expanded into women's lines recently." I gestured vaguely at the cuffs of my discarded shirt. "People assume I wear custom clothes because of my size, but the truth is, I've always found comfort in well-made garments."
"Makes sense," she said, her eyes thoughtful as she studied me. "You seem very put together. Like everything has its place."
She was more perceptive than I'd given her credit for. "After my...release," I said carefully, "I needed to reclaim my appearance. The warlocks dressed me how they wanted, when they wanted. Sometimes not at all." The admission was more than I'd intended to share so soon, but something about her made honesty feel natural. "Creating beautiful things, things that fit perfectly, became a way to feel normal."
Her hand found mine on the table, fingers intertwining with a gentle pressure that spoke volumes.
"What about you?" I asked, eager to shift the focus. "UX design, is it?"
Her face lit up immediately. "Yes! I make sure technology is accessible to everyone, not just the young and tech-savvy. My speciality is designing interfaces that work for people with different abilities." Her enthusiasm was contagious, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke. "On the side, I create digital art, body-positive stuff, mostly. I sell prints online."
"I'd like to see your work sometime," I said.
"Yeah?" She looked pleased. "Fair warning, it's pretty unapologetically in-your-face. Lots of curves, lots of color."
"Like you," I observed, earning another one of those warm laughs.
"Exactly like me. Subtle isn't really my brand."
We fell into easy conversation, knees still pressed together beneath the table. I learned she preferred savory foods to sweet, that she could spend hours exploring art galleries but couldn't sit through most movies without fidgeting, that she listened to music so loud her neighbors had complained multiple times.
"Night owl or morning person?" I asked, my thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand where it rested on the table.
"Definitely night," she replied. "The best things happen after dark."
"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow.
"So far, the evidence supports my theory." She glanced at me through her lashes, a look that sent heat racing through my veins.
