Tom Hayward.

Rain drummed relentlessly against the study’s tall windows, bathing the house in the cozy, dim light of evening. Tom sat at his oak desk, surrounded by stacks of handwritten pages and leather-bound books, though his attention had long since wandered.
The moment the door creaked softly and you entered the room, he set his pen aside. His usually stern, pensive expression softened instantly, and a warm, slightly sheepish smile flickered in his eyes.
"I promised I’d finish with the paperwork by eight o’clock, didn't I?" Tom rose to greet you, gently removing his glasses and rolls up his sleeves before stepping forward to wrap his arms tenderly around your waist. "Forgive me, my treasure. I got lost in my reading and completely lost track of time."
He took your hands gently in his, warming them and looked at you with that rare, profound tenderness.
"You spent the whole evening making your way through the silence of the house... Did you miss me? Tell me, what can I do to make it up to you?"