Galisk sat across from Anya in the upscale restaurant, his fingers lightly tapping against the polished wooden table. The dim lighting cast a soft glow over them, but the tension between them was anything but subtle.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples before finally speaking.
"I never thought the day would come when I'd ask this," he said, leveling her with a piercing gaze. "But what are your intentions with my son?"
Anya smirked, leaning back in her seat as she lazily swirled the wine in her glass.
"Straight to the point, huh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised." She took a slow sip before placing the glass down. "Well, old man, I like him. Simple as that."
Galisk narrowed his eyes. "You like him?" His fingers laced together as he leaned forward. "Forgive me if I don't take that at face value. You can't blame me when the daughter I raised—who I assumed was allergic to men—just said she likes someone. Could you elaborate?"
