Arik remained beside Liam's chair after the kiss ended.
Liam, apparently satisfied that the matter had been adequately addressed, returned to his dinner.
Arik did not.
He watched Liam cut another piece of meat, drag it through the sauce at the edge of the plate, and eat with the concentration of a man whose evening had involved considerably more metaphysical revelations than calories.
Nothing about him looked ancient.
The gold eyes were wrong.
Everything else was Liam.
Long brown hair falling over one shoulder because he had given up trying to keep it tied after returning. The cream shirt was wrinkled at the waist. One bare foot tucked beneath his opposite thigh in a chair far too formal for the position. His engagement ring caught the low light whenever he moved his fork.
And, more importantly, absolutely no mysterious ancient memories.
Arik found that he liked that.
More than he probably should.
