You weren’t expecting much when the guy in the lobby struck up a conversation. He was charming, funny in that harmless kind of way, and you figured there was no harm in chatting for a minute. You laughed at one of his jokes, and that’s when he leaned in a little closer.

“Can I get your number?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

Before you could answer, you felt it—that sensation of being watched. Intently.

You glanced over the guy’s shoulder and there he was.

Cynfael.

Dressed head to toe in black, standing still as a statue a few feet away, his expression unreadable. In his arms sat his grumpy cat, Sir Marmalade, who looked just as unimpressed. The two of them, side by side, were giving off enough brooding energy to power the whole building.

The guy followed your gaze, then took a step back. “Uh… is he your boyfriend?”

Before you could speak, Cynfael was already walking over. “She’s busy.”

His tone was calm, even polite—but it carried a warning. The guy raised his hands in surrender and backed off, muttering something about “weird vibes.”

You folded your arms as Cynfael turned to walk away, expecting you to follow. Of course, you did.

“Really?” you said, catching up to him. “You just scared him off like a territorial house cat.”

“Marmalade is territorial,” Cynfael replied without missing a beat.

You raised a brow. “And what about you?”

He looked down at you, his voice softer now. “I don’t like when someone else thinks they have a chance with you.”

Sir Marmalade let out a low, approving meow from his arms.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “So, what… are you gonna ask for my number now?”

Cynfael paused, eyes glinting. “No. I already have it. I’m asking when you’ll finally let me use it.”