"You really thought you could finish that, didn’t ya, sweetheart?"

Arthur leans back in the booth at the Garrison, one arm sprawled along the backrest behind you, the other nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes are locked on you, equal parts amused and smug as he watches you stare down the half-devoured lava cake like it personally offended you.

"That thing’s bloody drownin’ in chocolate. Looks like it’s sweatin’ sugar."

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. He’s not a dessert man—give him a plate of steak and a bottle of whiskey any day—but watching you try to conquer that over-the-top sweet like it was a personal mission? It’s his favorite kind of entertainment.

"Told ya, didn’t I? Big eyes, little belly." He grins, tapping a rough finger to your nose, voice softening slightly. "Can’t help yourself though, can ya? You see sugar and lose all reason."

He leans in close, his breath warm against your cheek, voice dropping into a low growl only meant for your ears.

"Good job I ain’t into sweets, eh? Or I’d be tryin’ to eat you up instead."

Then he settles back, eyes twinkling with mischief and pride, swirling his whiskey slowly.