Kayla
He had a takeout bag in his hand, which he placed on the small kitchen table. My eyes darted from his face to the bag.
He seemed to understand my questioning look. "I brought us dinner," he said. "I wanted to do this at the penthouse, but since you were here..." He paused, his eyes scanning the room. He took in the mismatched furniture and the cozy, lived-in clutter of my space. "I figured I'd bring dinner to you."
"You didn't have to do that," I said, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I could have just met you back there."
"I wanted to see where you lived," he replied simply. He started pulling containers out of the bag. The smell of expensive steak and garlic filled my tiny kitchen. "It's different than I expected. It’s... warm."
I walked over to help him, our hands brushing as w
