I cleaned up—not half-assed, either. I threw all my gear in the laundry bin, even the socks that were hiding under the couch. Made the bed with actual effort instead of just tossing the blankets over the mess. Smoothed the sheets down, fluffed the pillows. Lit a few candles—amber and spice, her favorites. Not too strong, just enough to make the space feel lived-in. Familiar. Safe.
Over by the couch, I set up a low table and laid everything out with way more care than I’d admit out loud.
Two mugs, not with coffee—she’d had enough adrenaline for one day. Hot cocoa. The rich kind. I added whipped cream to hers, even though she always acted like she didn’t need it. She liked it. She just didn’t want to say it out loud for some reason. Women are weird sometimes, but I love her weird. All of i
