Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

Cole blinked again, watching the quiet ritual unfold with a kind of puzzled respect. He hadn't meant to disrupt—not like that. His ears twitched back as her words settled, a faint crease forming between his brows.
Sorry, he said, low and sincere. There wasn't much else to offer. He hadn't understood what she was doing, but now he did. Or, well... enough to know it mattered.
His gaze shifted down to the stag, then back to her.
Didn't mean to scare it. Or you. A beat. You did good.
Simple words. Honest. He cleared his throat, awkward all over again, as if unsure if he was supposed to keep standing there or leave her to finish the rest.