He smiles at that, his grin wide, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
I plate everything while he sets the table. I don’t go for fancy. Just bowls and forks and the small cake we bought tucked near the edge of the counter like a quiet promise for later.
The moment feels steady and earned.
And then my phone buzzes on the counter.
I ignore it at first. It buzzes again. And again.
Ollie glances over. “You going to get that?”
“Probably the studio,” I say lightly.
I wipe my hands and pick it up.
Three notifications from Vinny. Words that make something cold slip under my ribs.
Vinny: Package received at front desk.
I read it twice before the meaning settles.
Ollie’s watching my face now. He knows me well enough to see the shift.
“What?” he asks.
I look toward the door instinctively, as if the answer might be standing on the other side of it.
“Vinny says there’s a delivery at the front desk,” I say slowly. “Addressed to me.”
His posture changes immediately. “From who?”
“No return name.”
The air in the kitchen doesn’t change dramatically. It doesn’t shatter. It just tightens.
He steps closer without thinking. “Is he on his way up?”
“No,” I say. “He’s holding it.”
I look at the third text again that tells me he wants permission to open it.
We stand there a second too long, dinner steaming behind us.
“Could be nothing,” Ollie says carefully.
“Could be.”
But neither of us believes that.
His jaw sets. “Okay,” he says.
My phone buzzes again.
Vinny: I’m coming up.
I look at Ollie.
The rice is perfect. The chicken smells incredible. The table is set. And something unwanted has just tried to step into the middle of it.
