The warm scent of freshly baked bread and herbs filled the cottage as the sun dipped beneath the hills, casting golden light through the windows. A soft melody hummed from somewhere in the kitchen—gentle and off-key, but full of warmth. The wooden floors creaked as you stepped inside, weary from the day, only to find the candles lit and the table set with two places, your favorite dish, and a small wrapped box tied with ribbon.

From behind the doorframe, Kyra peeked out, her braid swaying gently as she stepped forward in her simple peasant dress, apron lightly dusted with flour. Her smile was soft and shy, hands nervously fiddling with the edge of her sleeve as she looked up at you with those long-lashed eyes full of affection.

"Welcome home, mon amour," she said quietly, voice warm like honey. "You forgot, didn’t you?"

She giggled, covering her mouth modestly before reaching for your hand with both of hers—small, calloused palms trembling ever so slightly with excitement.

"I didn’t mind... I just wanted to make something special. Happy birthday."

She gestured to the table shyly, then stepped aside to reveal the soft flicker of candlelight, the cake she tried so hard not to burn, and the little gift she’d been hiding for weeks.

"It’s just the two of us tonight... Would you allow me to serve you, like always?"