Bennett looked up. “Different how?”
“Lighter,” she replied. “It’s nice.”
He didn’t correct her.
“How was your day?” Jasper asked.
“Manageable,” Bennett said. “Yours.”
“Long,” Jasper replied. “Worth it.”
They ordered takeout. They talked about nothing urgent. Jasper sprawled across the couch with his feet in Bennett’s lap. Bennett rested a hand on Jasper’s ankle without thinking.
The ease of it still surprised him sometimes.
Later, as the city lights flickered on outside the windows, Jasper glanced at him.
“You ever think about how weird it is that we met because of a cancelled flight?”
Bennett considered that. “Statistically improbable.”
Jasper smiled. “Romantic.”
Bennett rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it.”
Jasper shifted closer. “You know what’s wild? You used to correct my grammar in emails.”
“You used to send proposals with typos,” Bennett countered.
“And now?”
“Now I just fix them quietly,” Bennett admitted.
Jasper laughed. “That’s love.”
Bennett nodded. “It is.”
There had been conversations. Difficult ones. Moments of recalibration. Bennett had learned how to say I need time without disappearing. Jasper had learned when to wait and when to push.
They had not rushed. They had not stalled.
They had chosen.
Bennett reached for Jasper’s hand. The gesture was unconscious now. Automatic.
“I have a work dinner next week,” Bennett said. “Plus one.”
Jasper smiled, slow and warm. “You’re asking me?”
“I am,” Bennett replied. “Publicly.”
Jasper squeezed his fingers. “I accept.”
Bennett leaned back, feeling something settle deep and steady in his chest.
The work dinnerhappened on a Wednesday. Bennett had prepared for it like a presentation, which Jasper found both endearing and unnecessary.
“It’s just dinner,” Jasper had said.
