"Knew what?"
I turn to face her fully, spatula still in hand. "That you'd be incredible at this. That you'd take something everyone else saw as a consolation prize and turn it into exactly what you wanted to build."
The way she looks at me in that moment—soft and grateful and completely unguarded—reminds me why I was willing to walk away from everything rather than let anyone dim that fire. She fought for this. Fought Easton, fought Vivian, fought for the right to have both her career and me. And now she's sitting in our kitchen in my t-shirt, revolutionizing youth programming like it's the most natural thing in the world.
She's not my redemption story. She's not the prize I won for finally growing up.
She's my partner. My equal. The woman who sees my protective instincts for what they really are—love, not ownership—and lets me take care of her because she knows the difference.
"Come here," she says softly, setting the laptop aside.
I abandon the pancakes without hesitation, crossing to her in three quick strides. She reaches up as I lean down, her hands framing my face as I kiss her slow and deep. It tastes like coffee and contentment and the promise of a thousand more Sunday mornings exactly like this one.
When we break apart, she keeps her forehead pressed to mine. "I love you," she whispers. "I love this. I love that we don't have to hide anymore."
"Best decision I ever made," I murmur against her lips. "Going public."
She laughs. "Best decisionweever made."
We. Us. Together.
The words still give me that same rush they did three months ago when she stood in front of Kowalski and half the team brass and announced that she was keeping both her job and her relationship, and anyone who had a problem with that could take it up with her directly.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I'm about to ignore it when Sloane's starts ringing too. She frowns, reaching for it.
"It's Brynn," she says, glancing at me before answering and putting it on speaker. "Hey, what's—"
"Sloane, you're not going to believe the nightmare assignment I just got." Brynn's voice is sharp with fury, but there's something raw underneath it. "Two weeks shadowing Zac fucking Torres for an in-depth profile. Two weeks with the man who seems to enjoy destroying people."
I watch Sloane's face change, recognition and concern flickering across her features.
"Oh no," Sloane breathes. "Brynn—"
"I can't do this. Not with him. Not after—" Brynn's voice cracks, then hardens again. "God, I have to go. I need to figure out how to get through this without committing murder."
The line goes dead, leaving us in sudden silence.
Sloane sets the phone down slowly, her expression troubled. I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
"That sounded complicated," I murmur against her hair.
"Very," she says quietly, then turns in my arms to face me. "But that's their mess to sort out. Right now, I'm more interested in our pancakes."
The smile she gives me is soft and real, pushing away the shadow of our friends' drama. I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, tasting coffee and contentment.
"Our pancakes are probably burned," I tell her.
"Then make new ones," she says, pulling me down for another kiss. "We have all morning."
And we do. Here in our kitchen, with Sunday sunshine streaming through the windows and nothing to hide, we have all the time in the world.
"I love our life," I tell her, and mean it completely.
"Me too," she says, kissing me again. "Me too."
THE END
A Note from Sena
