The evening air was still warm when Isla stepped outside, tugging the bakery door shut until the latch clicked. The faint scent of bread and cinnamon clung to her clothes as she rolled her shoulders from a long day.
Cael leaned casually against a sleek black car parked just down the street, his jacket catching the last bits of sunset. He straightened when she approached, a smile playing at his lips.
"You know," Isla said as she got closer, "most people don't just wait around for someone to close up shop."
Cael's smile curved. "Most people aren't me. Lucky you." He swung the passenger door open, the gesture half teasing, half chivalrous.
She gave him a look but slid in, muttering something about strange nobles with too much time on their hands. He rounded the car, slipped into the driver's seat, and they pulled away from the curb.
City lights blurred past, golden and soft in the twilight. Isla settled against the seat, exhaustion making her more thoughtful than talkative. For a stretch, the only sound was the engine and the muted thrum of traffic.
"You're unusually quiet," Cael said at last, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Are you secretly plotting your escape?"
"If I were, I wouldn't tell you. That'd ruin the surprise."
He chuckled under his breath, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
A few minutes passed, and Isla's eyes narrowed as she noticed the route curving away from her familiar blocks. "Uh... this isn't the way to my apartment," she said slowly, looking out the window at unfamiliar storefronts.
He flicked a look at her, all feigned innocence. "Suspicious already?"
"Very," she said, narrowing her eyes. "People don't usually take detours unless they're up to something."
"Relax," he said, his tone warm and easy. "I'm not abducting you. Humor me—I need to stop somewhere before the shops close."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not suspicious at all."
"Suspicious would be if I asked you to wear a blindfold. This is just a detour —I promise not to sell you to pirates."
She gave him a skeptical look but couldn't hide the tiny twitch of amusement tugging at her mouth.
The car eased to a stop in front of a boutique that glowed like a jewel box in the evening. Floor-to-ceiling windows shimmered with soft light, silhouettes of gowns and chic jackets visible within. Isla sat up a little straighter, caught off guard.
"This looks... expensive," she said warily.
Cael unbuckled and stepped out, tossing her a grin over the roof of the car. "Don't sound so suspicious. I said it's for me."
"Uh-huh," she replied, but she followed him anyway, curiosity tugging at her steps.
Inside, the boutique was a world apart—polished wood floors, the faint scent of lavender, and a few attendants moving gracefully between racks of silk and chiffon. They lit up the moment they saw Cael, clearly recognizing him.
"Lord Cael," one greeted, bowing her head slightly before gesturing toward a quieter section of the store.
"You look very at home here," Isla murmured, arms folded, watching as Cael moved with effortless familiarity through the space.
He wandered toward a rack of jackets, pretending to inspect them. "You think I'm the kind of guy who never sets foot in a shop?"
"I think you're the sort of guy who has things delivered before you even realize you want them," she shot back.
He flashed her a grin, then tilted his head toward a display of gowns. "Humor me—I want to see your face when you try something completely not 'baker-girl.'"
Isla's brows shot up. "You're ridiculous. I bake bread, Cael. I don't play dress-up."
"And yet," he said, "you stole a ballroom in green velvet. Indulge me, Isla."
One of the attendants had already picked up on his cue, gliding over with a hanger draped in soft ivory fabric. "This would be stunning on her," the attendant said, addressing Cael with the kind of confidence reserved for regulars they were eager to impress.
Isla's eyes widened. "Oh no. Absolutely not. Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it. Do you people rehearse these lines?"
"No rehearsals," Cael said, with an infuriatingly charming grin. "Just good taste."
Before she could protest further, another attendant was already ushering them toward a more private section at the back—a small sitting area partitioned with sheer panels, where plush chairs waited and mirrored fitting rooms lined one wall.
"Right this way," the attendant said smoothly, clearly used to offering a little spectacle for high-profile customers.
Isla shook her head the whole way. "Cael, I am not—"
"You're not what?" he interrupted, guiding her toward one of the fitting rooms. "About to humor me? Too late. They're already fetching more options."
"They—Cael, no, this is ridiculous."
But her protests fell on deaf ears. An attendant handed her the gown and gestured toward the fitting room, closing the door behind her with practiced discretion.
Outside, Cael sank into one of the chairs, long legs stretched out as he waited. A smile tugged at his lips when the door creaked open again and Isla stepped out, the gown skimming her frame with effortless grace.
She tugged at the fabric self-consciously. "This is... a little much."
For a moment, he said nothing, just took in the sight with a look that made her cheeks warm. Then, softly, "You look better than I imagined."
She rolled her eyes and turned back toward the room. "I'm not trying on anything else."
"Fine by me," he said easily, leaning back. "That one suits you."
When she stepped back out in her own clothes, she held the gown carefully over one arm and offered it to the waiting attendant. "Thank you," she said softly, "but I can't take this."
Cael was already on his feet, intercepting with that same smooth confidence. "Why don't you?"
Her brows rose. "Cael... I'm not accepting a dress from you."
"Why not? You wear it better than anyone else."
"It's too much," she murmured. "And it's not necessary."
"For you, it—"
"Cael, no." Isla cut him off, a breath of laughter slipping out despite herself.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, as if considering another argument, then only shook his head with a low, amused sound. "You're infuriating," he murmured, but there was a trace of something warmer beneath the words.
They stepped out of the boutique a few minutes later, attendants bowing them off with practiced smiles. The car's engine hummed to life, and as they pulled away, the glow of the boutique softened behind them, its golden light fading into the night.
Isla leaned her head against the window, watching the city blur past—never noticing the careful way Cael's gaze lingered on her reflection, or how quietly satisfied he looked as the boutique disappeared from view.