PAULINE POV
“You don’t know that!” I shouted, louder than intended, stabbing the air between us with my fork like it had personally insulted me.
The room went silent. Like, post-apocalyptic silence. Even the antique clock on the wall seemed to hesitate before ticking again. Mew stopped licking her paw. My mother froze mid-sip of wine, while my father blinked slowly, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
And Robert. Oh god. Robert didn’t even flinch.
He just looked at me across the dinner table, his gaze steady. Calm. Warm in a way that made my chest tighten.
“I do,” he said simply. And then—oh stars help me—he set down his glass like he was about to give a TED talk on romance and slow destruction of the human heart.
“I know it,” he said, voice deeper now. “Because when I cook for you,
