Entering her apartment, he quickly took in his surroundings, whereupon his gaze settled on the piano. Ah, there it is, he thought, the source of all those melodies. For the life of him, he couldn’t grasp how he had completely missed it the other time he had been here. Though to be fair, he was so focused on retrieving his little runaway, also known as Licorice to the feds, tunnel vision had ruled that day.<br/><br/>As Anton completed his sweep, noticing stacks of books, music sheets, a knitting basket, various odds-and-ends, and other personal items, two words sprang to mind: lived-in. He liked that, as he truly felt that’s what a home should look like.<br/><br/>Seeing the plates she had just placed on the table, he answered her first question, “I am now.” The lit candle did not escape his notice. “I’ll have whatever the chef recommends to go along with her signature dish, though I must say, this looks far from simple,” he teased, smirking at her. Anton figured she either didn’t hear his statement of “signature and simple,” or she just chose to ignore it. He favored the latter.<br/><br/>Prior to seating himself, he waited for Stella to do the same.