Daryl wasn’t a man of words. Never had been. He spoke in actions, in the rough way his hands fit around hers, in the way he always made sure she had the last bite of whatever they were eating, in the way he never let her walk behind him, always beside.

She was his for six months now. He didn't know how he pulled her off, but dammit if he would ever let her go.

But words mattered to her. And for that? He’d learn.

He wasn’t the type to pick up a book, not for something like this. But he didn’t need one. He had her. The way she slipped into Spanish without thinking, soft and unguarded. The way she and Rosita laughed, a language they shared. He listened. Paid attention. Memorized the way her voice curled around certain words, the ones she said with a little more weight, the ones she whispered when she thought no one could hear.

It started slow. A word here, a phrase there, muttered under his breath when she wasn’t around, over and over until they didn’t feel so damn foreign. Until he wasn’t just mimicking—he understood.

And now, standing in their house—their house—watching her move around the kitchen, watching the light catch in her eyes, he figured it was time to say something. Just once. Just to see what she’d do.

"Te ves hermosa."

His voice came out rougher than he meant. He shifted, clearing his throat, acting like it was nothing. But his heart was pounding. Waiting.