"Yeah." I squeeze his hand. "Unless you really want—"
"Chinese sounds perfect." His smile is soft. "But I get to pick the dumplings."
"Deal." I lean into him as we walk. "But I control the remote."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
The credits ofThe Holidayscroll up the screen. Empty Chinese containers litter my coffee table, casualties of a night that's stretched past the point where either of us wants to acknowledge the time.
Caleb's stretched out on my couch, his arm draped over my shoulders, fingers trailing slow, absentminded lines across my skin.
The biggest surprise of the night isn't how natural it is to be tucked against his side, or how his body heat is turning my brain to happy mush. It's the sight of Salem—my usually homicidal cat—stretched out on his back across Caleb's lap, belly up and purring loud enough to rival the TV's hum.
"I still can't believe you corrupted my cat with General Tso's chicken," I say, as Salem shamelessly arches into Caleb's scratches. "Years of attempted murder, and all it took was some deep-fried bribery?"
"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."
"Oh yeah? Name one that doesn't involve bribing small animals."
His fingers pause their movement on my arm, and his eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge, Shortcake."
Salem stretches, all four paws extended like he's trying to take up maximum space, then resettles with his head propped against Caleb's stomach. The purring kicks up another notch.
"He's claiming you," I say, watching my formerly antisocial cat make heart eyes at the guy who used to be his nemesis. "Should I be worried?"
"Nah." His fingers move from my neck to tangle in my hair. "Pretty sure I know exactly where I belong."
"So," I shift against him. "How's Pixel Dreams?"
"Where do I even start?" His expression lights with pure joy, warmth spilling through me at how genuinely excited he looks. "First day, I walked into the wrong meeting room and sat through fifteen minutes of marketing strategy before realizing I wasn't in new hire orientation."
"You didn't."
"Oh, I did. Started taking notes and everything. Even offered suggestions about their social media approach." He shakes his head. "Pretty sure Dave from marketing still thinks I'm gunning for his job."
I snort. "Please tell me there's more."
"Remember how I used to think I was hot shit with computers? Yeah, turns out building games in your bedroom doesn't exactly prep you for corporate servers. My first week, I accidentally pushed a test update to production—pretty much wiped out half the company's debug system."
"How are you not fired?"
"Honestly? No idea. Though I did have a full breakdown in the supply closet. Jules—she's this amazing dev—found me stress-eating all the emergency Twizzlers and freaking out."
"Emergency Twizzlers?"
"Every tech company has a crisis snack stash. Though the real drama was Janet's almond milk incident."
"Do I want to know?"
"Probably not, but I'm telling you anyway." He chuckles. "So, I'm coding for like, twelve hours straight, right? Brain's basically mush. I grab this almond milk from the fridge—which, by the way, had more warning labels than a nuclear facility. We're talking aggressive Sharpie, multiple exclamation points."
"Tell me you didn't."
"Drank the whole thing. Didn't even think twice." He winces at the memory. "Turns out Janet from HR has a very creative way with words. Now there's a company-wide slack channel dedicated to labeling your food with increasingly threatening messages."
"At least you're making an impact."
"Oh yeah, I'm basically a workplace culture icon now. Though nothing beats the time I wore my shirt inside out to a client meeting and didn't realize until our CEO, Xander, started drawing attention to my 'bold fashion choices' in front of everyone."
