The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the hardwood floor. You leaned back against the couch, one knee bent, watching him rest his forearm against the table, his head tilted toward you with that lazy, knowing grin he always had when he caught you staring.

“Y’know, you’re staring again,” he teased, his voice low and warm, like velvet brushed with gravel.

You rolled your eyes, but the flush across your cheeks gave you away. “Maybe I just like looking at you. Ever think of that?”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through the quiet room as he reached across, his tattooed arm brushing yours. His hand, rough and warm, settled over your knee, squeezing just enough to make your stomach flip. “Mm, careful,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something soft but undeniably mischievous. “Say things like that and I might start thinking you’re falling for me all over again.”

You smirked, leaning forward until your forehead almost touched his. “Almost forty and you still need reassurance?”

His smile softened, the teasing slipping into something more tender. “Not reassurance,” he said, thumb brushing circles on your knee. “Just… I like hearing it from you.”

You closed the gap, pressing your lips to his, the faint taste of coffee and warmth lingering between you. When you pulled back, you whispered against his smile, “Then I’ll keep saying it. Every damn day if I have to.”