Meliza's POV
"You don't need to cook... or set the table for me," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended as I watched him move easily around his kitchen. Something was unsettling about seeing Ethan doing something so simple, so domestic.
He glanced at me briefly but didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Reluctantly, I sat down, my gaze shifting toward the table he'd carefully prepared. Everything looked perfect—the plates, the silverware, even the neatly folded napkin—elegant and precise—just like him.
But it wasn't the table setting that made my heart flutter. It was the smell.
The rich and buttery aroma of baked salmon filled the air, mingling with the crisp scent of freshly chopped vegetables. My stomach chose that exact moment to betray me, releasing a loud growl that echoed embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet room.