The drive back was slow, the night draped in a soft kind of silence that only lovers understood.
City lights spilled across the windshield, dancing across Evelyn’s face, painting her in shifting golds and silvers.
Liam glanced at her once, then again. He couldn’t help it.
She was quiet — the kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, just full.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said softly, his lips curving.
She turned to him, brows lifting in mock offense. “And you can tell that because?”
He chuckled, the sound low and intimate.
“Because I know that look. You’re replaying every conversation from dinner, trying to figure out if my mother approved of you.”
She laughed — short, surprised — and shoved his shoulder gently. “I am not.”
Then, quieter, her gaze falling to her lap, “Maybe a little.”
