Dinner was quiet.
The cook had arrived quickly, surprised but willing, and prepared a simple meal—roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, sautéed vegetables. The kind of dinner that filled the house with warmth and familiarity.
The kind of dinner Rylee used to make.
Sebastian ate slowly, his expression unreadable. Maya watched him from across the table, trying to decipher his mood. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t distant. He was… somewhere else.
“Is it good?” she asked, forcing a smile.
He nodded. “Yes. It’s good.”
But his tone lacked warmth.
Maya’s stomach twisted. “You’re quiet tonight.”
Sebastian set down his fork. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
He hesitated. “About earlier.”
Maya’s pulse quickened. “Earlier?”
“At the café.”
Her breath caught. “You went to a café?”
“Yes.”
“Wit
