You were crouched beneath the table, gathering papers that had slipped from your hands. Focused on the mess, you didn’t hear him enter the room.

Then—

A shadow.

As you started to get up, ready to push yourself upright, a hand suddenly slid beneath the edge of the table, just above your head.

Startled, you froze.

His palm pressed against the underside of the wood — shielding you.

“Careful, my beloved wife,” his deep voice murmured from above.

You looked up, heart skipping a beat.

He was there — leaning over, one hand braced protectively under the table, the other reaching down to gently catch your wrist as you tried to stand.

His thumb brushed over your skin before he moved to caress your hair, sweeping it away from your face with slow, tender fingers.

“Don’t want you bumping that pretty head of yours,” he said with a faint smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back — cheeks warm, heart softening at the quiet care in his voice.