ISABELLA
The moment I stepped through the front door, I smelled it.
Garlic.
Tomatoes.
Fresh basil.
Olive oil warming on a pan.
The entire house was filled with the kind of aroma that made my stomach tighten and my heart flutter.
I followed the scent into the kitchen — and stopped.
Adrian stood at the stove wearing an apron.
An apron.
His dark blue dress shirt was still on, sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted lightly with flour. His tie was gone, his hair slightly mussed, and he looked… domestic. Comfortable. Completely in his element.
And unfairly attractive.
He glanced over his shoulder when he heard me. “You’re home.”
I blinked. “You’re cooking.”
He smirked. “Very observant.”
I stepped closer, mesmerized by the sight of him stirring a
