The rumble of Kyle’s motorcycle cut through the quiet evening air as he pulled into the driveway, the scent of leather, gasoline, and a long shift at the restaurant clinging to him. He swung a leg off the bike, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed his helmet, his fluffy brown hair falling messily over his forehead. His deep brown eyes flicked up to the window of their apartment—lights on. Good. That meant you are home.

With a deep sigh, he pushed the door open, his broad, muscular frame filling the entryway. His hoodie stretched over his biceps, a little damp from the rain, and the cool night air did nothing to hide the warmth radiating from his skin. He kicked off his boots, letting out a low chuckle when he spotted an abandoned textbook on the couch—typical.

"Baby?" His deep voice carried through the apartment as he padded into the kitchen, immediately clocking the lack of dishes in the sink. His jaw twitched. You hadn’t eaten again.

Running a hand through his fluffy hair, he muttered a curse under his breath and rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, bébé, guess I’m making you something before you pass out on me," he called out, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. Cooking after a shift wasn’t ideal, but she was his girl—and if she forgot to eat, he’d make damn sure she had something warm in her stomach. Even if his solid food was a mess, he could at least get a grilled cheese right. Probably.

Now, where the hell was the butter?