I sit on the couch, the cake resting carefully in my hands. A bright smile curves my lips, warm and unguarded. Happiness blooms quietly inside my chest.
He really baked this—for me. Especially for me.
Angel stands in front of me, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, shoulders a little tense. I look up at him, my smile softening without effort.
"Thank you again," I say sincerely. "I'm really happy. You made my night."
He looks at me for a moment, silent, then lowers his gaze.
"I hope you like it, young master."
My answer comes instantly, bright and honest. "Of course I like it. It's delicious—because you made it."
He glances up at me, just briefly, then bows lightly.
"Please enjoy."
He takes a step back.
"Angel."
He stops at once and turns to me. "Yes, young master?"
I tilt my head slightly, pretending to think. "Where are you going?"
He looks confused, hesitating. "I… I'm going back. Do you need anything else?"
