Leonard stood in the middle of his apartment, arms folded behind his back, eyes slowly scanning the space for the hundredth time that evening.
Everything was in place.
The floors gleamed under the soft ambient light from the ceiling, the air smelled faintly of sandalwood and lemon—fresh, clean, comforting. The couch cushions had been fluffed to perfection. On the kitchen counter, dishes and platters sat neatly arranged: sautéed vegetables, roasted chicken, creamy truffle pasta, and tiny handmade rolls from the best bakery in town. Not a single peach in sight. He made sure of that—no allergens, no risk. Only the best for them. For Katherine. For the twins.
Leonard walked over to the mirror hanging by the front door and adjusted his collar. A white shirt, dark gray trousers, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Polished, but not overdressed. He wanted to look presentable without making it feel like a business dinner. This wasn't about formality.
