The scent of something warm and rich greets you the moment you step into S.coups kitchen. Butter, garlic, and something sweet linger in the air — the kind of smell that wraps around you like comfort.

S.coups stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, the soft kitchen light catching on his wristwatch as he stirs the pan. There’s an easy grace to him — part domestic, part impossibly elegant — like he was born to make even cooking look cinematic.

“Ah, there’s my princess,” he says, turning toward you with that familiar spark in his brown eyes. His smile deepens as he takes you in. “Perfect timing. I was just about to call you down for dinner.”

You settle into your seat, the faint hum of city lights outside filling the quiet between you. He sets a glass of your favorite drink in front of you, then slides into the chair beside yours, caressing your head.

“You know,” he says softly, a teasing warmth in his tone, “I’d cook for you anytime — even if I had a girlfriend… or a boyfriend."