I knowsomething’s wrong the second I walk into my flat.
The lightsin the kitchen are off but the counters are clean in a way I didn’t leave them. There’s a plate covered neatly on the island. The air smells like proper food, not takeaway or protein nonsense.
Sweetness lingers under it.
Cookies?
I shut the door quietly behind me.
“Jelly?”
She didn’t answer but I know she’s here.
The clock on the stove reads 3:03. She must’ve fallen asleep.
I uncover the food on my counter to see chicken, rice and peas, plantain, and mac pie.
Oh, she’s done with me for real this time.
I knew that instantly. Still, I ate it.
Upstairs, I shower because I can’t climb into bed smelling like airport and pitch and recycled plane air. I take my timeunder the water, scrubbing the travel off me. When I step out, there’s a towel in the warmer.
My mouth twitches.
Oh, Jelly.
I wrap it around my shoulders and pull on the pajama bottoms she’s laid out for me.
When I step into my bedroom, she’s asleep on top of the covers, curled slightly toward my side of the bed.
For a second, I just stand there.
“Jelly.”
She doesn’t stir.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and brush my knuckles down her arm.
“Jelly.”
Her lashes flutter. Those green eyes blink open slowly, hazy, adjusting.
“You’re here,” she murmurs.
“I’m here, baby.”
Her mouth curves faintly. “Don’t you look refreshed.”
“Thanks to you.”
Her gaze drifts over me like she’s checking for damage.
I nudge her gently. “Move.”
She shifts without arguing, scooting over. I slide us under the covers and pull her into me automatically, chest to chest, legs tangling like we’ve done a hundred times.
Her body fits against mine easily.
