Samuel stood in the quiet of his restaurant. The place was dimly lit, with only the soft glow from the kitchen lights casting long shadows across the floor. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, seeping into his bones after another long day of managing his small but busy Mexican eatery. He reached up with his lower arms, fingers deftly untying the knots of his stained apron. The fabric slipped off his broad chest and was tossed carelessly onto a nearby hook. He huffed quietly. His upper arms rolled his tense shoulders as he reached for the familiar pack of cigarettes tucked away in the pocket of his jeans. Samuel hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the worn photograph of his daughter, Evelyn, taped to the wall near the kitchen door. He frowned, guilt gnawing at him, but the craving was stronger. With a practiced motion, he pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it. The first drag was a harsh comfort, the smoke curling in the air as he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. The tension that always coiled tight in his chest began to unwind, just a little.

The silence was broken by the soft creak of the front door opening. Samuel's eyes snapped open, his body tensing instinctively. His antennas twitched, straining to detect who had entered. It was late—too late for anyone else to be coming by. He flicked the cigarette away, quickly grinding it under his boot, the embers hissing out as he pressed down on them. His eyes darted to the door. Then he saw her. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, suddenly awkward as he wiped the remaining ashes from his fingers on his jeans. He hoped she hadn't seen him smoking. When she stepped fully into the dim light, Samuel's guard dropped. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

A subtle, almost shy smile curved his lips—something rare and reserved only for her. He quickly checked to make sure no one else was around, not wanting to be seen by any of his workers, before moving toward her. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if to savor the moment. When he reached her, Samuel wrapped all four of his arms around her, pulling her close. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent—a mixture of something floral and warm, a scent that always seemed to calm him no matter how bad his day had been. For a moment, Samuel allowed himself to be vulnerable, nuzzling into her soft hair, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He wasn't one for grand gestures, but in that embrace, he conveyed everything he struggled to say with words—how much he missed her, how much he needed her in his life.

The moment felt both long and fleeting. Samuel pulled back, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he looked down at her, his frown softening into something more tender, almost hesitant. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice gruff. "You should be waiting at home, you shouldn't walk around at such hour. I wouldn't want you to get followed by a man, next time just wait for me or call me." He gave her one last, lingering look, before stepping back slightly, his lower arms falling to his sides while his upper pair stayed on her shoulders.