[Ava's POV]
The silence that settled between them after her touch was a new entity, a third presence in the sun-drenched kitchen. It was not empty, but densely packed with the echoes of her fingers on his cheek, the ghost of her laugh, the unspoken acknowledgement that something fundamental had shifted.
Lucien, having been witnessed in his profound and comic vulnerability, seemed to retreat into a state of hyper-efficient competence. It was his version of a retreat, regrouping after an emotional skirmish.
Without a word, he turned his back to her, a gesture that felt less like dismissal and more like a granting of privacy—a chance for them both to gather the scattered pieces of themselves.
The view of his tattooed back, the frilly apron strings tied in a neat bow at the small of it,
