Saturday mornings were always quiet in the Reyes penthouse, but today, the silence felt… softer.
Liana hummed as she stood in front of the mirror, tying her hair into a loose ponytail. She wore a simple white blouse, high-waisted jeans, and her favorite sneakers—nothing fancy, but clean and bright, just like her.
She stepped into the kitchen with a small list in hand. "I'll head to the market," she said lightly, mostly to herself.
But before she reached the door, Nathaniel appeared, holding his car keys. "I'll take you."
Liana blinked. "The driver can—"
"I want to," he said, not quite meeting her eyes.
She hesitated... then nodded, her heart doing that strange flutter again.
The ride was mostly quiet. The city passed by the car windows in a blur of gray skies and light traffic. Nathaniel didn't speak much, but he reached over once to turn the radio on—an instrumental station. She smiled quietly to herself.
It wasn't conversation. But it wasn't cold, either.
At the grocery store, he followed her through the aisles like a quiet shadow. While she checked prices and inspected tomatoes, he leaned against the cart, his sleeves rolled up, looking a little out of place in his designer watch and tailored slacks.
"You really do this every week?" he asked suddenly.
She looked at him over her shoulder. "I used to do this every day."
He gave a small, almost reluctant smile. "Do I need to learn how to pick good onions?"
Liana laughed softly—the first real laugh since their wedding day."You can learn. But you'll need a lot of practice."
They reached the pasta aisle, and she reached for the cheapest brand, out of habit.
"Get the better one," Nathaniel said behind her.
"This one tastes fine."
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the shelf. "We can afford something nicer. You don't have to hold back."
Liana turned to face him. "You're used to luxury. I'm used to being careful. Can we meet in the middle?"
Their eyes met.
Something flickered between them. Not tension. Just… truth.
He nodded once. "Middle it is."
She picked a mid-range box of pasta and dropped it in the cart with a soft smile.And he—he didn't look away from her smile for a long moment.
When they got home, she unpacked the groceries while he lingered in the kitchen doorway, watching her.
"You don't talk much," she said suddenly, still unpacking.
Nathaniel shrugged lightly. "I'm not used to talking."
Liana glanced at him. "Then maybe you should get used to being asked questions."
He raised a brow. "Like what?"
She turned fully to him. "What's your favorite color?"
He blinked. "I... don't know. Gray, I guess."
She wrinkled her nose. "Too safe."
He crossed his arms, amused. "What's yours?"
"Yellow."
He looked at her. "I should've guessed. You're always warm."
Her hands stilled. That was the kindest thing he'd said to her since the day they met.
She cleared her throat. "Next question: What did you dream of when you were younger?"
He looked at her a long time before answering.
"Peace."
Liana didn't respond right away. But later that night, she added a new note beside his coffee.
"I hope you find peace in our little home. One day at a time."– L"
And the next morning, when she opened the fridge, she found her favorite mango juice inside—with a sticky note of its own:
"Yellow. Like you."– N