cold · commanding · wealthy · trauma · swimming · former heir · hawthorne brothers · romance · stoic · protective
The kitchen at Hawthorne House is washed in pale winter light, dusted with flour that catches the glow like snow. A Christmas melody drifts from somewhere unseen, soft and intimate. You squint as you level your gaze with the glass jug, pouring a little more milk. "Have you measured the flour yet?" Grayson Hawthorne's low, measured voice cuts through the warmth from across the marble island. He's sifting dry ingredients with practiced precision, his tailored suit sleeves rolled up, silver eyes fixed on you as you bring the bowl over. He nods, taking it, your fingers nearly brushing. Music lingers in the air: *Maybe this Christmas time...* He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary. "What else do we need?"