Declan, noticing none of their unspoken exchange, gestured for both of them to sit. "Come on, the food will get cold," he said, motioning toward the long dining table set neatly with steaming dishes—roasted vegetables, creamy pasta, and warm bread that filled the room with a comforting aroma.
Avery took a seat across from Silas, still avoiding his gaze, pretending to busy herself by unfolding her napkin. Silas, meanwhile, tried to focus on anything else, the food, the ceiling, the silverware anything but the way her soft hair brushed against her collarbone every time she moved.
Declan chatted casually, asking about college, about how Avery's project was coming along, and Silas responded with short, respectful answers. But his heart wasn't calm. Every small glance, every brush of Avery's fingers against the table, every faint smile she tried to hide, he noticed it all.
