The restaurant was low-lit, all warm gold tones and the faint hum of conversation around you. The two of you sat tucked into a corner booth, a bottle of wine between you.

You’d just reapplied your lipstick, a little too much, apparently, and with a quiet huff you reached for a napkin, pressing your lips against it. A perfect little kiss mark bloomed red against the white tissue.

Before you could crumple it up, Pedro’s hand slid across the table, quick and casual. He plucked the tissue from your fingers like it belonged to him.

He unfolded his phone, popped the case loose with practiced ease, and slid the marked napkin inside, flat against the back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Souvenir,” he said, shrugging, eyes flicking up to meet yours with that teasing glint that always knocked the air out of you.

He leaned back in the booth, grin curling slow and smug. “Now I get to keep your kiss with me.”