“Yeah,” I reply, trying to peek through the oven door. The chicken skin looks so crispy and delicious.
Aiden hums, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth. “Good. Means I can actually ask about the two of you without him making sappy heart eyes at you the whole time.”
I groan, covering my cheeks with my hands. “Please don’t.”
“What?” He gestures with a wooden spoon, far too pleased with himself. “You’re dating my best friend, Gabe. I get to give you shit for it. It’s brother law.”
“It’s harassment.”
“Semantics,” he says, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re smiling a lot more lately, so I’ll allow it.”
“I always smiled…” I say guardedly.
He snorts. “You’ve been giving that polite little smile for years, the one you have on your face these days, though.That’s different. It’s a real smile now… real dopey.”
I toss a napkin at him, but I can’t stop grinning. “You’re a…” I cast my eyes toward Rose, who’s watching us intently. “Donkey,” I finish.
He snatches it, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, grab those plates, would you?”
Dinner is loud but has an easy comfort to it. Rose babbles while Aiden sneaks vegetables onto her plate that she flings to the ground in record time. He tells me a story about a client at the gym who nearly passed out on the treadmill. I tell him about Theo stopping by the shop.
He nods his head, looking a bit irritated. “Did he go to the post office alone?”
I’m sure the confusion is clear as day on my face. “Um, I don’t know.”
What a weird question to ask.
“Cool, say where he was heading after?”
“No…”
He just bobs his head, expression unreadable as he pushes more carrots onto Rose’s plate while she’s distracted. “Anyway, how’s the store?”
I tell him about the online store progress and about emailing Dani. He talks about the gym some more, and about bringing Rose to the aquarium soon.
It’s simple. Ordinary. And it’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. By the end of dinner, I’ve forgotten about the shop, the nerves, and the pressure to do more.
I toe off my shoes by the door, letting them land in a heap. The quiet of the apartment wraps around me instantly. The air has the faint bite of citrus peel and cedarwood from Noah. His hoodie is draped over a chair by the kitchen table, as usual—a reminder he’s here even when he isn’t. Seeing it makes me smile.
I round into the kitchen and stop. Four round shapes break up the silver monotony of the fridge door. Oreo cookies. At least, they would be if they weren’t unapologetically, ridiculously bright. One is neon pink, another the kind of blue you only see in slushies, and the last two are just as bold in yellow and green.
They’re absurd. They’re loud. They’re hideous. They’re perfect.
I step closer, reaching out and let my fingers graze the ridged “cookie” edges.
Noah must have spotted them somewhere and thought they’d make me laugh. Except… to me, this isn’t just him finding something funny. I know in my heart, without needing him to say it, that he bought them because they reminded him of me. Of us.
The longer I look at them, the warmer my throat feels. It’s bizarre how four bits of plastic can change the space around me into something more lived in. More like a home. The apartment feels different since he moved in, less like a space I’m just existing in, more like a home we share.
Together.
I love them. I love the ridiculousness, the silly joy of them.
A smile stays on my face even as my nose stings and my vision blurs. Happy tears, but tears all the same. My fingertips linger on the neon pink one, tracing the shape. It strikes me how easily he’s brought his brightness into the quiet corners of my life, and how I’ve never had to ask for any of it.
“Oh,” Noah’s amused voice carries from behind me. “You saw them.”
I turn to see him. He’s in the doorway of the living room, hair windswept, hoodie draped over his shoulder. The way he smiles, like this is a small, private joke between us, makes more tears fall.
