The apartment is quiet now. Cal’s office door is cracked open; she can hear his voice, low and measured, speaking in that tone he uses when he’s in the middle of something important. A meeting. Probably with Sienna and Lorenzo, given the morning.

She’d meant to go straight to the bedroom. Change out of her light sweater. Maybe start sketching something for the new croissant recipe she’s been toying with. But she pauses in the hallway instead, the soft morning light catching the edge of his silhouette through the gap in the door.

He’s standing near the windows, phone pressed to his ear, one hand tucked into the pocket of his charcoal trousers. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows—that particular kind of unstudied elegance he wears without trying. His dark curls catch the light. He looks serious, intent, every inch the CEO.