I stop short.
The living room is softly transformed. The television over the fireplace is framed with Christmas lights, the fire beneath it low and steady. The air smells faintly of apple cider. A charcuterie board sits on the coffee table, scaled down and intentional—crackers, sliced fruit, and a few Christmas cookies.
My emotions aren’t prepared to recognize that Aiden already knows Phoebe like she’s always been his, like he’s been paying attention to every detail since he met her.
I’m not surprised, just overwhelmed.
Aiden steps toward us from the kitchen, already surveying Phoebe’s physical appearance.
“What did the doctor say?” he asks. “How are you feeling, bug?”
“This is awesome,” Phoebe murmurs, shuffling toward the couch like gravity’s pulling her there.
“It’s a virus,” I say, setting my keys and coffee down. “Fever’s holding steady. Not better, but thankfully not worse.”
He nods once, absorbing it. “Okay.”
I can feel the disappointment from here, and it’s genuinely touching. You want your kid to feel better sooner, not later.
Like he needs to put eyes on her again, he shifts toward the living room, and I follow.
“So we wait it out?” he asks.
“We wait it out,” I confirm. “Rotate meds. Lots of fluids. Rest.”
“Done,” he says, leaning over the couch to pull a blanket up around Phoebe’s shoulders. “Any new instructions?”
I shake my head. “Same plan as overnight.”
“Good.” He glances at me then, eyes soft but alert. “You okay?”
The question lands heavier than it should. I roll my shoulders, exhaustion settling deeper now that we’re home.
“Ask me again after coffee number two.”
“That’s fair.”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell him quietly.
“I wanted to. She’s sick during her favorite time of year, with her favorite people in the house.” He glances at her again, then back to me. “She deserves happy memories even though she’s sick.”
I’d already been thinking of things to do for the same reasons. But I didn’t have to juggle it this time. Aiden just…stepped in and made it happen.
I take the couple of steps still between us and grab a fistful of his flannel shirt, yanking him down at the same time that I push onto my toes.
The world fades away, and for a long, blissful moment, only Aiden exists. Not the exhaustion pressing on me from all angles, not the worry that she’ll suddenly take a turn and I won’t know how to handle it, just a delicious hum sliding through my veins.
I might’ve surprised him, but he recovers nicely, wrapping both arms around me and pressing me close. When he deepens the kiss, I can’t help but let out a tiny sigh of satisfaction.
“What’s that for?” he murmurs as I step out of his arms.
“Everything.” I give a tiny shrug. “Showing me what love looks like out loud.”
He presses one last quiet kiss to my lips before he circles around the couch to mess with the remote.
Aiden isn’t performative, but he picked up quickly that I needed the actions more than the words.
But there’s a tiny shift in my heart I can’t quite name. A doubt is threading its way in, reminding me that this is still new. That we did get married for practical reasons. That we’re still in the honeymoon stage.
