Her warning about revoked cake privileges made him laugh, low and helpless, the sound rumbling out of him before he could stop it. It vibrated through her when she leaned against him, and he thought — God, that sound only exists because of her. Only Maddie Marsh would turn forever into a wager and cake into currency, and he adored her for it, every stubborn, brilliant inch.

When she turned to the counter, he didn’t move. He just watched. Watched her knife through golden sponge, champagne fizz foaming over the edge, her laugh spilling out as she scrambled for a towel. There was nothing rehearsed about it. No stage lights, no spotlight — just Maddie glowing in her own kitchen, barefoot, hair loose, pouring mismatched glasses like it was the grandest party in the world. And maybe it was. Because it was theirs.

And when she lifted her glass, eyes sparkling like she’d been stitched together from starlight and fire, and toasted frosting on noses and uneven cakes, he nearly lost it. Because it wasn’t just a joke. It was her telling him, in her way, that this — the mess, the imperfection, him — was enough. More than enough.

He clinked his glass against hers, grin wide and unstoppable, but his voice dipped softer, steadier under the sound. “To you, Maddie Marsh,” he murmured, the words meant only for her. “My favorite part of everything.”

Then she took that first forkful of cake, closed her eyes like she’d been transported somewhere holy, and moaned with a drama that should’ve made him roll his eyes. Instead, he threw his head back laughing, his chest shaking with it. “Christ, you’re going to make me jealous of sponge and frosting,” he teased, shaking his head like he could keep from grinning. But the truth was plain: he’d never seen anything sweeter than her, sitting there with cake in one hand, champagne in the other, joy blooming across her face like it belonged there.

When she said it — this is the celebration that matters — it hit him square in the ribs. The kind of truth you don’t argue with, not even to tease. So he didn’t. He just reached out, set his hand over hers where it rested on her knee, warm and sure, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re right,” he said, eyes never leaving hers, voice carrying more weight than he intended. “The rest of the world can bloody well wait.”

Her smile at that — wide, unguarded, real — carved itself into him like something permanent. He wanted to freeze the whole night right there: cake half-eaten, bubbles fizzing in mismatched glasses, the stereo humming in the background, Maddie Marsh lit up with sugar and champagne and forever.

And as she laughed again, fork waving, cheeks flushed, Ethan thought he’d never want another kind of party. Not ever. Because this wasn’t just celebration. This was home.

Her cheeks were warm from the champagne, from his words, from the way he looked at her like the cake and the music and even the air itself were secondary to her. She pretended to focus on the fork, on the next bite of sponge and frosting, but the truth was she could feel his gaze everywhere.

She swallowed, took another sip of champagne, and let the fizz dance over her tongue before lifting her glass again. “Alright,” she said, her smile curving into something softer, brighter. “One more toast.”

She waited until his eyes caught hers, until his hand settled more firmly over hers, steady and sure. Then she tipped her glass toward him, voice warm and a little teasing. “To us. To this beautiful, chaotic, perfect life we’re stumbling into. To frosting wars and late-night songs and cakes that should probably cool a little longer before you attack them with a spatula.”

Her grin turned sly as she added, “And to you, Ethan Parker — who still somehow manages to be my favorite mess of all.”

The sparkle in his eyes told her she’d landed it — tender and flirty in one breath. She clinked her glass against his again, the sound ringing small but certain in the quiet kitchen.

She took a long sip this time, leaned in until her shoulder brushed his, and nudged the fork toward him with mock seriousness. “Now, eat your share before I change my mind and keep this all to myself. Rockstars don’t get special treatment in my kitchen, no matter how pretty their eyes are.”

Her laugh tumbled out before she could stop it, light and unguarded. She wanted more of that tonight — not tears, not the heavy weight of memory. Just cake, champagne, and the boy she’d chosen.

Because he was right. The rest of the world could wait.

Ethan grinned around the fork she shoved at him, the sweetness melting on his tongue. But honestly, it wasn’t the cake that stuck with him — it was her. The way she looked at him across their own kitchen table, champagne in mismatched glasses, like this tiny corner of the world they’d built together was worth more than anything outside its walls.

He leaned back into the couch, arm settling along the backrest until his fingers brushed her shoulder. She didn’t flinch — just sank into the space like she belonged there, like they both did.

“Guess I can’t complain,” he teased, taking another sip from his glass. “Your kitchen, your rules. And if the chef happens to be biased toward me, I’d say I’ve earned it. Pretty sure my half of the rent covers at least one free pass on frosting etiquette.”

Her laugh came quick and bright, spilling into the dim room, and it cracked him open in the best way. He glanced toward the counter — the mess of cake crumbs, champagne bubbles catching the light — and then back at her, curled against him with her knees tucked up, her plate balanced in her lap like it had always belonged there.

“This is us,” he said after a beat, voice low but steady. “Not the big parties, not the noise. Just… this. Our kitchen, our couch, too much champagne on a Tuesday night.”

She tilted her head up at him, playful but soft, and Ethan couldn’t stop the way his smile curved slow and real. He nudged his glass toward her, clinking lightly. “And yeah, Maddie Marsh — you’re still my favorite part of all of it.”

When she leaned into his chest, the stereo hummed in the background, some old love song that had lost its edges but not its warmth. He kissed her hair without thinking, tasting faint champagne still on his lips.

“God,” he murmured against her crown, half to himself, half to her, “how did I get this lucky? Sharing a kitchen, sharing… all of it. You’re sitting here looking like home and trouble all at once.”

His hand found hers on instinct, their fingers twining between plates and glasses, fitting the way they always did — like it had never been a question. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckle, small circles that steadied him more than the drink ever could.

“Don’t care how many songs I write, or how many stages they throw me on,” he added softly, eyes fixed on her profile in the glow of the kitchen light. “This — you falling asleep with cake in your lap, me trying not to steal it — that’s the only encore I’ll ever want.”

He chuckled at himself then, brushing his nose against her temple. “And yeah, I’m sappy as hell tonight. Champagne’s fault. Or maybe it’s just you.”

He really was impossible. Sitting there with his glass tipped lazily in one hand, words pouring out like some half-drunken ballad, looking at her like she’d hung the stars and not just smudged frosting across his cheek an hour ago.

She let him ramble, let him spin his soft, sappy lines until the corners of her mouth ached from holding back her grin. And when he finally chuckled at himself, blaming champagne or her, she turned in his arms, plate balanced carelessly against her knees.

“Definitely me,” she said, her voice warm but playful. “Champagne couldn’t get you this ridiculous.”

Her fork hovered between them, loaded with another bite of cake. She raised a brow, feigning seriousness. “You talk a big game, Parker. Stages, encores, forever. But the real test? Can you behave yourself long enough to earn this next bite?”

He leaned forward immediately, lips parting like he’d take the challenge without hesitation. Maddie smirked, pulling the fork back at the last second, the cake disappearing into her own mouth with exaggerated drama. She moaned softly, just to make him groan.

“Mmm. Tragic,” she teased once she’d swallowed, wagging the fork at him. “Guess you’ll just have to sing me another one of your sappy lines if you want dessert privileges restored.”

His laugh shook through her shoulder where his arm rested, and Maddie felt it like music. She leaned in then, brushing her lips over the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to leave him wanting more.

“You really are trouble,” she whispered, her smile curling as she sat back, lifting her glass in mock solemnity before taking another sip. “Lucky for you, I happen to like trouble. Especially when it comes with cake.”

She curled tighter into his side, fork tapping against the plate in her lap. The stereo hummed on, their kitchen glow soft and golden, and for once, Maddie didn’t think about tomorrow or the industry or the noise waiting outside their little world.

Tonight was theirs. Sweet, messy, perfect. And she wasn’t giving a single bite of it back.

Ethan nearly choked on his laugh when she stole the bite right from under his nose, her smug little hum making heat coil low in his chest. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head like she was too much — but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away.

“You’re ruthless,” he said, voice rough with amusement. “Absolute menace. Here I am, pouring my heart out like some idiot, and you rob me blind of cake on top of it? Maddie Marsh, you’re going to be the death of me.”

But he leaned in anyway, chasing the ghost of her lips where they’d brushed his mouth, stealing a proper kiss this time — slow, lingering, with just enough sugar clinging to her smile that he swore he tasted vanilla and champagne all at once.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, glass forgotten somewhere near the couch cushion. “You know I’d sing a thousand sappy lines if it means earning dessert privileges,” he murmured, his grin softening into something almost reverent. “Hell, I’d write a whole album just about this kitchen. About you.”

He let the words sit there, simple and unpolished, before pressing another quick kiss to her temple, a promise tucked inside it.

Then he leaned back with a smirk, nodding toward her fork. “But fair warning — if you keep teasing me with cake like that, I’m filing for equal dessert rights. House rule.”

His hand found hers again, thumb tracing lazy circles across her skin, grounding them both. And with her laugh curling through the glow of their kitchen, Ethan thought he’d never heard anything sweeter — not in all the songs he’d written, not in all the stages he’d stood on.

“God, I love this,” he said finally, so quiet it was almost to himself. “You. Us. Trouble and cake included.”

She couldn’t help it — the way her heart felt like it might burst right out of her chest. For once, there was no shadow at the edge of her joy, no weight pulling her under. Just her perfect idiot of a boyfriend, their messy little kitchen, and the kind of happiness she’d once thought belonged to other people.

“Equal dessert rights, huh?” she teased, voice dipping low, playful. “Guess I can be generous. Just this once.”

Before he could fire back, Maddie set her plate aside and swung a leg over, sliding into his lap with easy certainty. His surprised laugh ghosted against her collarbone, and God, the way his hands instinctively found her hips made her dizzy.

“Better?” she asked, feigning innocence as she scooped another forkful of cake. She held it between them, hovering just long enough for his grin to sharpen, then leaned in and finally — finally — let him have the bite.

Watching him chew like it was the best damn thing he’d ever tasted almost made her laugh. Almost. Instead, she dipped forward, pressing a sugar-sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth before whispering, “See? I can play nice.”

His hands tightened at her waist, and Maddie felt her smile curve slow and wicked. “But don’t get used to it. I like keeping you on your toes.”

Her forehead rested against his, their laughter spilling into the soft hum of the stereo, and for the first time in a long time, Maddie Marsh let herself float — champagne fizz in her veins, joy bubbling out of her chest, the world narrowed down to the boy in her arms and the taste of cake on his lips.

Cloud nine didn’t even come close.

Ethan couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out when she straddled his lap, the sound rough and helpless against her skin. His fingers tightened at her hips like they had a mind of their own, grounding him in the shock of just how easy it was to be undone by her.

“Better?” he echoed, his grin crooked, breath brushing warm across her collarbone. “Maddie, you could sit in my lap with no cake in sight and I’d still call it better.”

The fork hovered between them, and when she finally fed him the bite, he groaned low in his chest, chewing like it was some sacred thing. He let his head fall back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as if to draw it out. “That’s it. Best damn cake of my life. And it’s not even the frosting — it’s the delivery system.”

Her kiss caught him off guard, sugar and champagne clinging to his lips. He chased it for half a second before she pulled back, her words cutting sharp and sweet all at once.

“Play nice,” he repeated, tightening his hold at her waist until she was flush against him. His smile curved softer, lower, his voice a shade quieter now. “Maddie, you’ve already ruined me. You could feed me burnt toast and I’d call it the finest meal I’ve ever had.”

His forehead pressed against hers, eyes searching hers like he wanted to memorize every flicker of light in them. “And toes? Baby, I don’t mind living on my toes, not if it’s for you.”

He brushed his nose against hers, laughter still caught in his chest but tangled with something deeper. “You’ve got me, Maddie Marsh. Cake, champagne, chaos, all of it. I’m yours. Always.”

Ethan’s laugh faded into something softer, steadier, his thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. The warmth in his chest was almost too much to hold.

“Maddie,” he started, his voice low and sure, “you think I’m just being sappy, but I mean every word. You’ve got me. All of me. And I’ve already got the ring.”

Her eyes widened, but he kept going, brushing his forehead to hers, lips curving with quiet truth.

“It’s been sitting in my drawer for months, driving me insane. I’ve had nights where I almost asked, right there, just because it felt too impossible to hold it in. A couple times I even planned it out. But then something bigger came up — your single dropped, or you got that call you’d been waiting on. And I couldn’t do it, not then. I didn’t want my question to steal your moment.”

He smiled, tender and a little sheepish. “Because you deserve both. Your triumphs, your joy — and me, asking you to be mine forever. I want you to have them separately, so they shine.”

His voice dipped, reverent. “But make no mistake. I’m going to marry you, Maddie Marsh. I’m just waiting for the moment that’s ours alone. No noise, no competition. Just you and me.”

He kissed her then, slow and certain, letting the promise hang between them. When he pulled back, his words came soft but firm against her lips.

“So until then, you’re stuck with me. Ring in the drawer, forever on my mind. And I swear to you — when I do ask, it’ll be the easiest yes you’ve ever said.”

Her brain stuttered to a halt.

The words sat between them like they were glowing, too heavy to ignore, too bright to look at directly. I’ve already got the ring.

For a second, she thought maybe she’d misheard. Champagne fuzz, wishful thinking. But then she saw it in his eyes — steady, unflinching, no grin to soften it. Just truth.

Her mouth went dry. She’d already decided forever was his. Somewhere between the sleepless nights he sat beside her when she couldn’t write, and the quiet mornings where he made her coffee just the way she liked it, she’d made that choice. But hearing him say it out loud? That there was a ring? That he’d been holding onto it, waiting for the moment she deserved?

It was too much. In the best way.

Her laugh slipped out, shaky at first but bubbling into something breathless, almost disbelieving. “You—you’ve just been… sitting on that?” she whispered, her voice breaking with a smile. “All this time?”

He nodded, sheepish, and she could only shake her head, stunned, pressing her forehead to his like maybe that would anchor her before she floated right out of the room.

“God, Ethan…” Her voice trembled, but she forced the words through anyway, soft and certain. “You have no idea what you’ve just done to me. I already knew I wanted forever with you, but now?” Her laugh caught, turning half-sweet, half-flirty as her hand slid down to his chest. “Now I can’t stop picturing it. You. Me. Every damn day.”

Her lips brushed his jaw, lingering there, sugar and champagne clinging to her skin. “Do you realize what kind of trouble you’ve started, telling me that? Because I’m not going to be able to think of anything else every time I look at you.”

She kissed him then — slow, reverent, but charged with something new. Something permanent. When she pulled back, her smile was wide, a little dazed, but sure.

“You’re it for me,” she whispered, cupping his cheek like she could memorize him in her hands. “Ring or no ring, party or no party. You’re the only thing I want.”

And for once, Maddie Marsh was speechless in the way that mattered — not because she didn’t have words, but because none of them could touch the truth she already knew: forever had already started.

Ethan didn’t let her pull back far. His hand slid into hers, guiding her palm down until he could press a kiss against her ring finger, soft and deliberate. He lingered there, lips warm on her skin, before lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes again.

“All this time,” he admitted, voice quiet but certain. “Because I didn’t want to ask you in the middle of noise. You deserve more than a passing moment, Maddie. You deserve everything. I’ve had it planned before — a few times, actually. But then life threw something bigger at us. A show. A release. Your moment. And I couldn’t take that away from you. I didn’t want forever to feel like it was competing for your spotlight.”

He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head at himself. “And then there were times I almost asked anyway. Just blurted it out in the kitchen, or in the car, or when you’re curled up half-asleep with your coffee still in your hand. Because God, I can’t look at you and not see forever.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his voice thick but sure. “You say I have no idea what I’ve done to you — but Maddie, you have no idea what you’ve done to me. You’re it. Every song, every quiet morning, every stupid smile I can’t hide when you walk into a room… it’s all you. It’s only ever been you.”

He kissed her finger again, softer this time, reverent. “Ring or no ring, you already have me. Always. The rest of the world can wait.”

Ethan didn’t let go of her hand, not even after the kiss to her ring finger faded. He held it like it grounded him, like if he let go, the whole fragile, glowing truth he’d just put into the air might shatter. But then Maddie leaned into him again, soft and certain, and something inside him steadied.

The kitchen felt too small for what was spilling out of him, too ordinary for the weight of forever resting in her palm. He laughed under his breath, brushing his nose against her temple. “Come on,” he murmured, tugging her gently up from the counter. “Before I turn into an even bigger sap in front of the champagne bottle.”

She followed without hesitation, fingers still looped through his, and he led her down the narrow hall, past the little gallery wall of their mismatched photos, into the living room. The lights were low, the record still humming through the speakers, warm and crackling like it had been waiting for this.

Ethan sank onto the couch, pulling her down with him until she was curled across his chest, hair spilling over his shirt. He exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss into the crown of her head. The words came easier here, quieter, like they belonged to the dim glow of their living room instead of the bright clink of champagne glasses.

“You know,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her hair, “I used to think I’d have to write the perfect song before I could ask you. Like I owed you some big masterpiece, something that proved I deserved you.” His hand smoothed over her back, lingering. “But sitting here, like this? You laughing in the kitchen, sugar on your lips? That’s better than anything I could ever write. You’re better than every song.”

His chest rose and fell beneath her, his heartbeat steady, loud enough he swore it filled the room. He tilted his head just enough to catch her gaze, his thumb brushing her jaw.

“When it happens, Maddie Marsh,” he whispered, eyes steady on hers, “it won’t be about the moment. It’ll be about you. Just you. ”

She should’ve been used to it by now — the way he could turn her whole world on its axis with a few quiet words. But this? The image of a ring sitting in his drawer, waiting, patient, burning a hole through both of them? It unraveled her in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Her pulse was still tripping against her skin when his lips brushed her ring finger again, slow and reverent. And damn him, he had no idea how close she was to blurting out then go get it, Parker. Go get it right now before I lose my mind.

Instead, she swallowed hard, pressing herself closer into his chest like maybe that would steady the dizzy rush running through her. She tried for playful, tried for cool, but her voice still came out softer than she meant, threaded with something unshakable.

“You realize what you’ve done to me, right?” she murmured, tracing the hem of his shirt with her fingertip. “You can’t just drop the ring bomb and expect me to think about anything else. Either distract me with something ridiculous… or you’d better be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

She tilted her chin up, brushing a kiss against his jaw — sweet, lingering, but edged with a smile that betrayed her nerves. “Though, for the record… I do love that you didn’t try to steal my moments. That you let my victories stand on their own. That’s… very you. Infuriatingly thoughtful.”

Her laugh slipped out, husky and quiet against his skin, before she let her head fall back against the couch cushion, looking up at him with eyes that betrayed everything she was trying to keep cool.

“So now I’m stuck,” she said, lips curving. “Do I beg you to change the subject before I combust? Or do I beg you to open that drawer and end me right here?”

Her thumb brushed over his collarbone, soft and steady, her smile curving into something demure but unshakably certain.

“Either way, Ethan Parker,” she whispered, leaning in until her nose brushed his, “you’ve already got me. Every song, every scrap of cake, every damn forever.”

And then she kissed him — not frantic, not rushed, but slow and sure, pouring all of it into him so he’d know she meant it. That whether he distracted her or pulled out the ring tonight, she was his. Already his. Always his.