The smell of warm vanilla and melted butter filled the kitchen, mixing with the low hum of music playing from Lauren’s phone. The soft glow from the under-cabinet lights cast a golden hue over the countertops, where a half-eaten cake sat in all its messy glory, forks sticking out at odd angles.
It was well past midnight, but neither of them had made a move to go to bed. The city outside their apartment was alive with distant honks and the occasional roar of a motorcycle, but in here? It was just them.
Larry leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, sharp yet undeniably warm, stayed locked on her—like she was his favorite view in the world.
“You know,” he said, voice low, casual, like he wasn’t about to say something that would make her insides
