“You don’t know what flowers to plant?” I asked softly, stepping into the garden where Kane was staring at the freshly turned soil like it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

He didn’t even glance up. “Eat first,” he said, voice low.

It was barely past three. No one eats at this hour—especially not Kane. But before I could question it, my stomach betrayed me with a loud, grumbling growl.

Then I saw it.

A table full of my favorite dishes: black pepper pasta, honey-grilled chicken, soft rolls with rosemary butter. My breath caught in my throat. He did this... for me?

Kane must have heard what happened at school....