Isabella never failed to be amazed.
Every damn time, this man found a new way to destroy her logic. The way he stood there, calm and unbothered, like warming that bowl was the most natural thing in the world—like he wasn't just hanging onto his strength by threads—drove her insane.
He thought the herb was for her. That's why he warmed it.
So if he were the one drinking it, he'd have left it cold?
What kind of lunatic did something like that?
Her fingers twitched at her side. A soft exhale left her lips, part disbelief, part frustration—mostly directed at herself. Because of course he'd do that. Of course he'd put her first. He'd put anyone first.
He always did.
This sweet, soft-spoken, maddening idiot would probably trade his soul to save a stranger's shadow if he thought it might make someone's day a little brighter. It was insane. It was infuriating. It was… him.
