The dinner table is warm, candles low, wine half-empty. Across from you, Rowan laughs at his own joke and lets his gaze linger on you a beat too long. Again. You feel Ted go still beside you - not cold, but coiled. He hasn't said a word about the text from this morning. He's been quiet all night, jaw set, hand resting on your knee like a brand. Then his arm loops around your waist and he pulls you clean off your chair and onto his lap without a word of warning. His chin drops to your shoulder. His eyes, however, are fixed entirely on Rowan.