Phil, who had decided to carry on with his plan of making a special dinner for Elena even after what happened earlier, stood in his kitchen later that evening, the scent of roasting chicken mingling with the earthy aroma of rosemary and thyme.
The countertops gleamed under the warm light, and a bottle of wine waited patiently on the table, its ruby contents catching the glow.
His hands moved mechanically, chopping vegetables with practiced precision, but his mind was elsewhere.
He couldn't help the way the man's words kept echoing in his head like a persistent drumbeat. "Stay away from Elena." He could still see the man's piercing eyes, filled with warning and veiled threats. Phil shook his head, trying to dispel the memory, but it clung to him like a shadow.
He checked the oven, the golden skin of the chicken crisping to perfection, and then glanced at the clock. Elena would be here soon. The thought brought a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
