“What are you craving? Past? Pizza? Or something more exotic?” Oliver’s blue eyes flick back to Harper, a teasing glint in them as he waits for her response. While she decides on the dinner options, Oliver begins tidying up the kitchen counter. His movements are efficient and practiced, a habit from his organized nature. “Pasta sounds fine,” she says casually, and she kicks of the black mule heels she had on. “This all feels very domestic does it not?” Oliver pauses mid-motion, a book halfway back to its designated spot on the shelf. He looks over at her, his expression softening into something warm and almost vulnerable. Domestic,” he repeats the word slowly, letting it hang in the air between them.
A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I like the sound of that.” He tu
