They were in the kitchen, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds and striping the counter where two mugs steamed between them. Kane was folding a napkin with the casual precision of someone who liked small rituals; Isadora watched him, the corner of her mouth lifting. They had been trading the day's meetings—who would be where, who needed what—when she surprised herself by saying it out loud.
"Let's go out tonight," she said. "You're always the one cooking. For once, let me pick somewhere and you don't have to lift a finger."
Kane looked up, the napkin paused between his fingers. He smiled, slow and easy. "You want to go out? Tonight?"
"Yes." She felt the idea bloom warm and reckless. "No phones at the table. No emails. Just us. Dress up, nice food and a beautiful view."
He stood and crossed to her, leaning on the counter so their knees almost touched. "You'll wear something nice?" His voice held a teasing edge that made her heart stutter in a way she liked.
