I watched his profile in the blue glow of the television. Something was off—a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there this morning. His free hand had curled into a loose fist on his thigh, fingers tapping a restless rhythm.
“You’re thinking about Thanksgiving,” I said.
He went still. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve got that look. The one you get when family comes up.”
A long pause. On screen, someone was crying over an overcooked risotto. Seth stared at it without seeing.
“I haven’t been home since last Christmas,” he said. “They’re expecting me.”
“But you don’t want to go.”
“I never want to go.” He exhaled, long and slow. “But I keep thinking… Maybe this time will be different. Maybe if I just show up and play the part, they’ll…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
The urge to beg him to come home with me so he could be surrounded by people who wouldn’t judge him was strong. But he was warm against my side, and the day had been good—so unexpectedly, impossibly good—and I kept my mouth shut. If I pushed, he’d shut down.
“The offer stands,” I said again. “My mom would love to meet you.”
Something flickered across his face—hope, maybe, or longing. Then it was gone, replaced by that careful blankness he wore like armor.
“I’ll think about it.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. On screen, someone’s soufflé collapsed and three judges looked devastated.
We watched until the food was ready, then ate on the couch because the table was covered in my research. The chicken wasgood—better than good, seasoned with something I couldn’t identify that made my mouth water. Seth had talents I was still discovering.
“What’s the plan for the Riddell meeting?” he asked between bites.
“Lincoln wants me to walk through the data. Explain the concept, the testing methodology, and the results. Then see if they’re interested in developing it further.”
“And if they are?”
“Then we talk about licensing. Compensation.” I shook my head. “I still can’t believe this is happening. Three months ago, I was just trying to finish my capstone without falling apart.”
“You were falling apart a little.”
“Okay, yes. I was falling apart a lot.” I set down my plate. “But then you showed up with hot chocolate and sat with me while I cried about force distribution data, and somehow that turned into this.”
“The hot chocolate was key.”
“It really was.”
Seth’s expression softened. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—a gesture that had become habit, something he did without thinking. I leaned into his palm.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Not just the acceptance or the meeting. All of it. The way you’ve kept going even when everything felt impossible.”
The words hit me somewhere vulnerable, somewhere I usually kept protected. I thought about all the mornings I’d barely beenable to get out of bed. All the nights I’d spent staring at the ceiling, convinced I was wasting my time on research that would never matter. All the times I’d almost given up.
“I didn’t do it alone,” I said.
“You did most of it alone. Long before I showed up.”
“Maybe. But it’s better with you here.”
He was quiet for a moment, jaw working like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to say. The earlier tension—the Thanksgiving conversation, the family he was dreading—hadn’t gone anywhere.
“Seth,” I started.
