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I expected him to lead me down through the kitchen, but he turned the opposite direction. Wolfe slid back the doors to the formal dining room and I stopped dead in the threshold, one hand pressed to my heart.

The entire space was filled with lit candles, their glow flickering across the dark walls. The table was set with an open bottle of wine and two glasses already half poured. Two place settings sat beside each other, the white porcelain far finer than anything I’d ever used in my life. Wolfe led me into the room, studying his work.

“You didn’t need to do this,” I croaked. “We could have eaten downstairs.”

“I wanted to.” He pulled out my chair and I sat, legs boneless. “You thought I would be good at courting, didn’t you? How did I do?”

“Well,” I admitted, voice weak. “This is lovely.”

He grinned, lifting the lid from the pot in the middle of the table. The scent of roasted vegetables and meat wafted from inside.

“I haven’t made this in a long time,” he warned. I watched him take my bowl and ladle in the stew. “It was my ma’s recipe. She always made it for us on Samhain. She said it was the start of winter and that we needed something heavy that would stick to our bones to get us through the months ahead.”

He set my bowl down in front of me, and I stared at the stew, blinking back tears.

“Thank you,” I said thickly, “for sharing it with me.”

He ladled his own bowl and settled in beside me.

“Can you eat?” I asked, picking up my spoon.

“I don’t think I have a need to,” he confessed quietly. “But I’d like to try.” He snatched his wine glass instead and lifted it to mine. God, this was crystal. Beautiful, hand-cut crystal that threw rainbows over my knuckles. “To you.”

I shook my head. “To you.”

He snickered. “To us, then.”

I nodded, tapping my glass against his. The wine was rich, layered with spice and brambly fruits. It burst over my tongue and I groaned, savoring the lingering taste of it. The stew was delicious. The meat fell apart in my mouth and the potatoes and carrots were so tender I barely needed to chew them. The spices, the heat, the weight of the wine… It was perfect. Every bit of it.

Wolfe tucked into his stew, groaning with every bite.

I watched him clean the bowl and scoop a second. So many years without taste. I couldn’t imagine it. It was a small item in the long list of things I took for granted. Watching him savor it, bite after bite, had me slowing down. Pulling apart the spices and herbs in the stew. The way the wine felt on my tongue. The way they complimented each other and brought new flavors and tastes to light.

“Did you like it?” he asked when his second bowl was clean.

“I loved it. I’ve never had anything like it.”

He smiled, pleased. “Good. It was my favorite thing she used to make.” He topped up our wine glasses. “Do you have a meal like that? Back home?”

Right. Because this wasn’t my home.

“At the risk of sending this evening into sadness, no. I don’t. We had housekeepers and nannies. My parents weren’t ever really home. Maybe Christmas dinner? We would have roast chicken and gravy with vegetables. Chocolate torte for dessert. It was the only night we were really all together and they weren’t working.”

“Sad,” he murmured. “To have lived a life like that. So solitary.”

“I had my books,” I said. “They kept me company.”

He shook his head, lips pinched. “I don’t understand it,” he said, leaning back. “If I knew you were here, waiting for me… I would run. Nothing could keep me.”

I rotated my wine glass around, watching the light move through the crystal.

“Their jobs were—are—important,” I argued.

“So was mine,” he countered. “I had two thousand people looking to me for guidance but if you called, if you were waiting? There would be no choice, Avery. None.”

Emotion clogged my throat. Was it really… Was it really that simple?

They’d chosen their work over me. Their social circles, their bosses, and their demands.