Before Eleanor could argue further, a knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Deck leaned in.
He took in the chaos first.
Shoes. Dresses. Wine.
Then he saw her.
And went still.
A low whistle slipped out before he could stop it.
“Don’t,” Eleanor warned.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You whistled.”
“Habit.”
He stepped farther into the room, studying her without circling.
Not appraising.
Protective.
Proud.
“Turn.”
“I am not turning.”
“Turn, lass.”
She rolled her eyes and turned once.
Deck nodded.
“Ah.”
April beamed like she’d won something.
Deck’s gaze softened slightly.
“You look… happy,” he said carefully.
“I look dressed.”
“You look happy.”
She didn’t answer that.
He shifted his weight.
“Man’s polished,” he muttered.
“So?”
