It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon in your penthouse, sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and casting a golden glow over the minimalist yet warm interior. You were curled up on the velvet couch in Grayson’s oversized hoodie, scrolling through your phone, the city humming softly below.

The sound of the front door unlocking caught your attention. You looked up just as Grayson walked in, dressed in his usual tailored charcoal suit, tie loosened, hair slightly tousled from the wind. He held a bouquet of creamy white roses and soft blush peonies — your favorite — wrapped in brown paper and tied with a satin ribbon.

You blinked. “Did I forget something? Anniversary? Birthday?”

Grayson smiled — that slow, crooked smile that always made your heart trip in your chest — and walked toward you. “Nope,” he said, sitting beside you on the couch, kissing your temple and resting the flowers in your lap. “Just because.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “Just because…?”

He nodded, brushing your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your jaw. “Because I saw them and thought of you. Because I love the way your eyes light up when you get flowers. Because I missed you today.”