Damon’s POV

The scent of sizzling garlic drifted through the kitchen—Aria’s doing, of course.

She always cooked like the world depended on it: focused, humming, completely at peace.

I leaned against the counter, quietly watching her taste the stew with a small wooden spoon. When she nodded to herself, satisfied, it made something warm settle in my chest.

“This tastes great,” I told her.

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t taste it.”

“I don’t need to. You’re ...