Dinner passed in an easy, unhurried rhythm—quiet clinks of silverware, the soft hum of the warm lights, and the faint scent of her favorite dishes lingering in the air. Adam didn't talk much, but every time Sofia glanced up, she found his eyes on her—watchful, intent, as though memorizing the moment.
When she finally set her fork down, he leaned back slightly, studying her with that same unreadable expression that had been pulling her in all night.
"You're full?" he asked.
She nodded. "More than full. I think the chef made too much."
Adam's lips curved faintly. "Good. I told him to."
She tilted her head, amused. "You were planning to overfeed me?"
"No." He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower, softer. "I was planning to make you smile."
Her breath caught, the words settling in her chest like a warm spark. She tried to brush it off with a small laugh, but the weight in his gaze didn't let her. "And did it work?" she asked quietly.
