"I have an appointment later this evening," Yvienna said, glancing at Kyle.
Breakfast had long been cleared from the table. The faint scent of brewed coffee still lingered in the air as Kyle rinsed the last plate, methodical and unhurried. She was already seated on her swivel chair, chin resting lightly on her hand, quietly watching him as he cleaned—how natural he looked doing something so domestic, as if he belonged there.
"Then just call me when you're done," he said, zipping the lunch bag shut. "I'll come pick you up."
"But I can drive—"
"I will fetch you, Yvienna."
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes widened, her heart fluttering at the way he said her name—deep, steady, wrapped in that baritone voice that always seemed to linger longer than it should. She loved it when he called her My Luna, loved the tenderness behind it. But hearing her name like that felt different. More intimate. More dangerous. As if it reached places inside her she didn't even realize were still soft.
