Lena’s chest tightened in that way it always did when he said baby like a promise and home like a fact. For a second she couldn’t do anything but stare at him—at the soft wreck of his smile, the steadiness in his hands, the way he looked at her like she’d never once been temporary.

She blinked, once, like she could clear the shine out of her eyes by force. It didn’t work.

So she did what she always did when something got too tender too fast—she leaned into it instead of running, just with a little bite so it didn’t feel like begging.

“An inside night?” she echoed softly, mouth curving as she slid her hands up his chest and smoothed the front of his jacket like she had any business fixing him when he’d already fixed her. “You say that like there was ever a chance I was puttin’ shoes back on. I didn’t fly halfway across the country a day early to go be productive, Caleb.”

She tipped her head, the Santa hat flopping even more crooked, and kissed him—slow, lingering, aimed right at that corner of his mouth he always tried to hide his smiles in. Then another, higher on his cheek. Then one at his jaw, just because she liked the way he went still for it.

“Pizza’s still warm,” she murmured against his skin, voice low and sweet. “And you bought my wine.” Her eyes flicked up to his. “Look at you. Responsible. Domestic. Practically auditioning for future husband of the year.”

She pulled back just enough to give him a long look—playful, yes, but softer underneath. The kind of look that admitted how much she’d needed this without ever saying it outright.

Then she sighed and let herself sink fully into him again, cheek to his chest, listening to the steady beat she’d missed in every hotel room.

“What do I wanna do first?” she repeated, quieter now, her fingers curling at his sides like she was anchoring herself.

She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest through the fabric, gentle as a vow. Another just below it. Then she tilted her face up and kissed the underside of his jaw, lingering there long enough to make her point.

“I want you to take that coat off,” she said softly, loving and bossy all at once. “I want you warm. I want you comfortable. I want you right here where I can touch you whenever I feel like it.”

Her thumb brushed his cheek the way his had done to her, mimicking the tenderness with a little smirk like she’d stolen it.

“And then,” she added, eyes bright again, “I want that wine. Because if I have to tell you about Florida—the whole three-week circus—without a glass in my hand, I’m gonna start sayin’ things like I missed you too much and then we’ll both be insufferable.”

She kissed him again—soft, lingering, full of home—and when she pulled back, her voice dipped into something honest.

“But… I do want to tell you.” A beat. Her fingers tightened slightly at his waist. “Not tonight, not all at once. Just… little pieces. With the fire on. With you close.”

She smiled, sweet and certain.

“So first: coat off, wine poured, and you sittin’ down like you’re supposed to.” Her eyes glittered. “I didn’t come home early to watch you stand around like a man who doesn’t know he’s already been claimed.”

Caleb didn’t answer her right away.

He just watched her—really watched her—the way her mouth curved when she teased, the way her fingers smoothed his jacket like she was grounding herself as much as him. His hands stayed at her waist, solid and warm, thumbs flexing slow like they were memorizing the fact that she was here and staying.

“Baby,” he murmured, low and steady, like the word belonged exactly where he put it.

His right hand slid up her back, palm broad and sure between her shoulders, fingers splaying there in a quiet claim. The other stayed at her hip, thumb brushing a slow, absent circle like it had a mind of its own. When she kissed him—those soft, deliberate presses—he didn’t rush her. He leaned into each one, breath deepening, eyes half-lidded like he was letting it sink all the way in.

When she mentioned the wine, a faint huff of a laugh left him, warm and undone. “Future husband of the year, huh,” he said softly, mouth tilting. “Dangerous thing to say to a man who’s already thinkin’ like that.”

At her quieter words, his grip changed—subtler, gentler. His hand slid from her waist up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing just beneath her eye, like he was holding the shine there instead of wiping it away.

“Alright,” he said, voice calm but full. “We’ll do this your way.”

He leaned down and kissed her—slow, unhurried, nothing rushed or hungry. Just lips fitting where they always did, familiar and certain. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers for a beat.

Then he did exactly what she asked.

His hands slid away only long enough to shrug out of his coat, movements easy and practiced. He set it over the chair, then came right back to her like gravity hadn’t loosened its grip. One arm wrapped around her waist again, drawing her in, the other settling at the back of her neck, fingers warm and steady in her hair.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding her with a gentle pressure at her lower back. “Let’s get you settled.”

He steered her toward the couch, not letting go—just easing them down together so she stayed tucked against his side. His arm draped around her shoulders, hand resting at her upper arm, thumb stroking slow like a heartbeat. When he reached for the wine, it was with his free hand, never breaking contact.

He poured it carefully, then handed her the glass, eyes never leaving her face.

“You talk,” he said quietly, brushing his knuckles along her cheek once more. “I’ll listen. Little pieces, like you said.”

A small smile curved at his mouth, soft and sure.
“You’re home, love. I’ve got you.”

Lena felt it settle fully then — that deep, quiet click in her chest that only ever happened with him. The kind that said you’re safe now, that let her stop bracing for anything else.

She took the wine from his hand, fingers brushing his on purpose, and smiled up at him over the rim of the glass. “God, you’re good at that,” she murmured. “The listenin’. The holdin’. Makes a girl feel like she can finally stop performin’.”

She took a small sip, just enough to taste it, then set the glass down on the table within reach. Her eyes stayed on him — warm, mischievous, full of that familiar spark that meant she wasn’t done yet.

“Sit still,” she said lightly, already lifting herself just enough to reach up.

Before he could question it, she tugged the Santa hat off her own head, the cool air kissing her hair where it had been. She held it between her fingers for a second, inspecting it like she was considering a very serious design choice.

Then she placed it on him.

Carefully. Deliberately. Adjusting the brim until it sat just right, the white pom‑pom falling crooked against his temple.

She leaned back to admire her work, lips curving slow and satisfied. “There,” she said sweetly. “Much better. Festive. Rugged. Extremely on theme.”

Her hand came up to smooth the hat into place, fingertips brushing his hair, lingering a second longer than necessary. “Besides,” she added, voice softer now, “I’ve been wearin’ it long enough. Thought it was your turn to carry the Christmas spirit.”

She tucked herself back in against him, curling into his side like she’d never left, one leg draped comfortably over his thigh. His arm tightened instinctively around her, and she sighed — content, grounded, home.

“Florida was fine,” she said after a moment, voice quieter, honest without being heavy. “Work went well. Sun was nice. People were nice enough.” A small pause. “But none of it felt like this.”

Her fingers slid to rest over his chest again, right where she always went, tracing slow, idle circles like she was reassuring herself he was real. “I counted days,” she admitted softly. “Not for the job to end. For this part. For comin’ back and stealin’ your flannels and bossin’ you around and pretendin’ I don’t need you as much as I do.”

She tilted her head to look up at him, eyes bright, a little glassy, but smiling. “Don’t worry,” she added with gentle sass. “I’ll pace myself. Can’t have you thinkin’ I’ve gone soft.”

Then she yawned — small, unguarded — and settled her cheek against his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt.

“But tonight?” she murmured, already drifting, “I’m stayin’ right here. With you. Santa hat and all.”

And if she smiled again — slow and sleepy — it was because she knew, without a single doubt, that this was exactly where she belonged.

Caleb didn’t stop her.

He watched her take the glass, felt the deliberate brush of her fingers against his, and something in his chest loosened another notch. His arm stayed firm around her shoulders, hand resting warm and solid against her upper arm, thumb moving slow like it knew exactly how to keep her anchored.

When she spoke about not performing, his jaw softened. “That’s ‘cause you don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Not here. Not with me.” His voice was low, steady—certain. His fingers flexed just slightly, a wordless promise pressed into her skin.

Then she reached up.

He lifted his brows when she pulled the Santa hat away, a corner of his mouth already tugging like he knew trouble was coming. He stayed still like she told him to, though—let her study it, let her decide. When she set it on his head, adjusted it just so, the pom-pom brushing his temple, he huffed a soft laugh through his nose.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Reckon I clean up alright.”

Her fingers lingered in his hair, and his hand slid up her back in response, palm spreading between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer until there was no question she belonged right there. When she curled back into his side, leg draped over his thigh, he adjusted automatically—one knee angling inward, arm tightening, his body shaping itself around hers like muscle memory.

He listened while she talked about Florida. Didn’t interrupt. Just nodded once, thumb tracing a slow path along her arm, then settling at her shoulder when she paused.

“I knew you were countin’,” he said softly when she admitted it. “Felt it. Every damn night.” His hand slid from her shoulder down to her ribs, resting there, solid and protective. “House never sounded right without you in it. Even the quiet was louder.”

When her fingers found his chest, he covered her hand with his, big and warm, pressing it flat over his heartbeat so she could feel it steady beneath her palm. “You don’t have to pretend with me, baby,” he murmured. “You never did.”

Her yawn made him smile for real this time—slow, fond, undone. He tipped his head just enough that the brim of the hat nudged her hair, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice dropping into something softer still. His arm drew her in, snug and sure, hand rubbing slow circles at her upper arm. “I’ve got you.”

The fire crackled. The lights glowed. Outside, snow kept falling.

And Caleb stayed exactly where he was—holding her, breathing her in, knowing without question that this was home, and she was exactly where she belonged.

Lena felt the pull of it anyway — that soft, insistent tug behind her eyes, the way her body wanted to melt fully into him and let the night take her. She could’ve. God, she wanted to. He was warm in that deep, steady way that made everything slow down. The couch cradled them. The fire hummed low and content.

But she refused.

She shifted just enough to prove it to herself, lifting her head from his shoulder, blinking deliberately like she could ward sleep off by sheer will. “Hey,” she murmured, voice lazy but stubborn, fingers flexing against his chest. “Nope. Don’t you do that.”

He didn’t move, didn’t tighten his hold — just waited, patient as ever. Which somehow made it harder.

“I know what you’re tryin’,” she went on quietly, tipping her chin up to look at him, eyes still bright despite the weight in them. “All cozy. All safe. Fire cracklin’, arm around me like you’ve been doin’ it my whole life.” A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “You think I’ll just drift off and miss half the night.”

She shook her head once, decisive, and sat up a little more, though she didn’t break contact — her leg stayed draped over his, her hand still warm over his heart. “I didn’t come home early to sleep through you,” she said softly. “I’ve had three weeks of empty beds and quiet nights. I’m not wastin’ a single minute now.”

She reached up and adjusted the Santa hat on his head again, purely for the excuse to touch him, her fingers lingering at his hairline. “Besides,” she added with a gentle, teasing edge, “someone’s gotta keep you company while you wear that thing. Can’t have you lookin’ festive and unattended.”

Her gaze softened then, the sass thinning just enough to let the truth show through. “I wanna hear your voice,” she admitted. “Wanna feel you breathe. Wanna sit right here and know I’m not countin’ days anymore.”

She leaned in and kissed him — slow, grounding, nothing rushed — then rested her forehead against his jaw, eyes closing for just a second before snapping them open again like she’d caught herself.

“So,” she murmured softly, fingers tracing an absent line against his chest, “tell me what you did while I was gone. The little things. The stuff you haven’t said yet.”

And even as her body stayed curled perfectly into his, even as his warmth threatened to undo her resolve, Lena stayed awake — held there by love, by want, by the simple, fierce joy of finally being back exactly where she belonged.

Caleb huffed a quiet laugh first, the kind that vibrated through his chest where her hand rested.

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doin’, baby,” he said, tone light, teasing, his hand sliding up her back just enough to pull her closer again without forcing her down. “I was hopin’ you’d fall asleep so I could win one argument in this relationship without tryin’.”

His thumb brushed under her chin, tilting her face up just a little so he could see her eyes. “But no,” he went on with a crooked grin, “you gotta come back sun-kissed and stubborn and decide sleep’s optional.”

When she adjusted the Santa hat again, he shook his head, chuckling. “You realize if anyone from town saw me right now, I’d never hear the end of it.” A beat. Softer. “Worth it, though.”

He settled back against the couch, keeping her exactly where she was, one hand warm and steady at her waist. “Alright,” he said. “You want the little things?”

He started casual, like it didn’t matter as much as it did.

“Well… first week you were gone, I burned dinner twice. Once ‘cause I forgot it was in the oven. Once ‘cause I was distracted thinkin’ about how you’d tell me I should’ve listened when you said lower heat.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Ate it anyway. Didn’t wanna admit you were right.”

His fingers traced slow circles against her side as he talked. “I fixed the loose board on the back steps. The one you always trip on but refuse to admit exists. I left it lookin’ the same on purpose—figured you’d notice if it was too perfect.”

He paused, the humor easing just a touch.

“I kept the lamp on in the bedroom,” he admitted. “Not bright. Just enough. House felt wrong goin’ dark without you in it.”

His gaze dropped to where her hand rested over his heart, and his voice lowered with it.

“I talked to you out loud once,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t plannin’ to. Just… caught myself sayin’ your name when I came in from the cold. Like if I said it enough, you’d answer.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“I didn’t sleep great,” he added, honest now. “Bed’s too big when you’re not takin’ up all the space and kickin’ the blankets off.”

His thumb stilled, pressing gently where he held her. “I missed you in all the stupid ways,” he said. “Missed hearin’ you hum while you move around. Missed you tellin’ me what I did wrong while sayin’ you love me.”

He lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers.

“And I counted days too,” he finished, voice steady but raw around the edges. “Not ‘til you came back for good. Just ‘til I could touch you again and know you were real.”

Then, softer—half smile, half truth—

“So yeah,” he murmured. “You’re not fallin’ asleep. You’re stayin’ right here. Ask me anything you want. I’ve got all night… and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Lena didn’t answer him right away.

Instead, she shifted.

Slow. Deliberate. Like she wanted him to feel the decision as much as see it.

She lifted her leg from where it draped across his and swung it over him, settling herself astride his lap with an ease that came from knowing exactly how much space she took up in his life. His hands reacted before his mind did—one sliding to her hip, the other steadying at her lower back—instinctive, familiar, reverent.

She smiled at that.

Up close, she could see everything she’d missed: the faint crease between his brows that only showed when he was tired, the warmth in his eyes that never faded no matter how long they’d been apart. She rested her hands on his shoulders, thumbs brushing the collar of his shirt.

“There,” she said softly, a teasing lilt threading through the affection. “That’s better. Hard to fall asleep when I’m sittin’ on you, huh?”

Her tone was light, but her eyes were anything but. They softened as she leaned in, forehead resting against his, breath mingling with his like it had always belonged there.

“I carried you with me,” she murmured again, quieter now. “Every night. Every hotel room. Every time I crawled into a bed that wasn’t ours.” Her fingers curled gently at the nape of his neck. “But it’s different hearin’ how you missed me. How you kept me here.”

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth—slow, lingering, affectionate—then another to his cheek, smiling when she felt the way his chest rose beneath her.

“You’re good at lovin’,” she said softly. “Even when I’m not around to make it easy.”

She leaned back just enough to look at him properly, the Santa hat still crooked on his head making her grin widen. “And for the record,” she added, playful again, “if you ever leave that lamp on just for me again, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like missin’ me a little too much.”

Her hips shifted subtly, not to provoke—just to settle more comfortably, to remind them both where she was now. Here. With him.

“But I’m done bein’ gone,” she said gently. “For tonight. For this moment.”

She dipped her head, brushing her nose against his, her voice warm and certain.

“So tell me more,” she whispered. “Tell me everything you didn’t say on the phone. I’m not movin’… and I’m not fallin’ asleep. Not when I’ve waited this long to be right here.”

And she stayed there—balanced, grounded, completely his—letting the quiet wrap around them like it always did when love didn’t need to rush.

Caleb didn’t stop her.

The second she settled into his lap, his hands found their places like they’d been waiting—one firm and warm at her hip, the other spreading across her lower back, thumb pressing slow and steady like he was reminding himself she was real. Here. Not leaving. His breath left him on a quiet laugh when she spoke, low and affectionate.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough with a smile, “sleep’s officially off the table.”

He tipped his forehead to hers, eyes closing for half a second like he was grounding himself in the weight of her, the heat of her, the simple fact of her being right there. When he opened them again, there was nothing hurried in him. Just presence.

“I like you right here,” he said softly. “Feels… right. Like the house finally remembered what it’s for.”

Her words sank in, one by one, and something in his expression shifted—not heavy, not sad, just honest. His thumb traced a slow line along her side, absentminded and familiar.

“You know what I didn’t say?” he asked quietly. “I almost called you the second night just to hear you breathe on the other end of the line. Didn’t even need to talk. Just needed the sound.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Didn’t do it. Figured you’d tease me about bein’ dramatic.”

His hand slid up her back a little, resting between her shoulder blades, holding her there without pressure. “I kept busy. Worked too late. Fixed things that didn’t need fixin’. Took the long way home more times than I’ll admit.” A beat. “None of it worked as well as I hoped.”

He glanced up at the Santa hat still on his head and shook it slightly, amused. “Wore this once while you were gone. Just around the house. Felt ridiculous.” His eyes lifted back to hers, softer now. “But it made the place feel less quiet.”

His voice lowered, steady and real. “I don’t like when you’re gone, baby. I respect it. I’m proud of you. But I don’t like the space it leaves behind.”

His hand tightened just a fraction at her hip—not possessive, just certain. “And right now? I don’t need you to go anywhere. I just need you sittin’ right there, lookin’ at me like that, remindin’ me we’re okay.”

He brushed his nose against hers, gentle, unhurried.

“So I’ll tell you everything,” he murmured. “All the dumb stuff. All the quiet stuff. But only if you stay exactly where you are.”

A pause. A faint smile.

“Because I waited just as long as you did to have you back in my arms.”

Lena felt every word of it sink straight into her.

The way he said breathe. The way his hands stayed steady on her like he was afraid the quiet might steal her again if he loosened his grip. It made something warm and tender bloom behind her ribs, something she didn’t joke away this time.

She leaned in, slow and careful, her forehead resting against his, nose brushing his. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing small, absent circles there like she was soothing both of them at once.

“You could’ve called,” she murmured softly. No reproach. Just truth. “I wouldn’t have teased you. Not about that.” Her lips curved faintly. “Okay, maybe a little. But I would’ve loved it.”

She kissed him then—gentle, lingering, nothing rushed. The kind of kiss that said I’m here, I’m listening, I see you. When she pulled back, her eyes were warm, shining just a little, but her smile stayed easy.

“I’m sorry it felt empty,” she said quietly. “I hate that part. The space part.” Her fingers curled at the back of his neck, holding him there. “I never want you feelin’ like you’re just waitin’ around for me to come back to life.”

She glanced up at the Santa hat again, lips twitching. “Though I do love that you wore that while I was gone,” she added, affection threading through the tease. “Very brave of you. Very festive. Extremely tragic if anyone had walked in.”

She shifted slightly on his lap—not to move away, just to settle more comfortably—then rested her palms flat against his chest, feeling the solid, familiar beat beneath them.

“You know,” she said lightly, like the thought had just occurred to her, “next time I have to leave for work—and I am not sayin’ that’s anytime soon, don’t get that look—maybe we should get you a little company.”

Her brows lifted, playful. “A dog. Something with too much energy and zero sense of personal space. Someone to follow you around the shop and stare at you like you hung the moon.”

She smiled wider, softer. “Could keep you busy. Give you somethin’ warm to come home to when I’m not here. Someone to remind you you’re not alone in this place.”

She didn’t say anything else about it. Didn’t name the deeper reason tucked carefully beneath the suggestion. She just brushed her thumb along his collarbone and leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But for now,” she murmured, affectionate and sure, “you’ve got me. All over you. Literally.”

Her nose brushed his, her voice dipping into something sincere beneath the flirt. “Thank you for missin’ me the way you did. For lovin’ me even when I wasn’t here to see it.”

She rested her forehead against his again, eyes closing for a second—not asleep, just full.

“And I promise,” she added softly, “I’m not plannin’ on goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

Caleb didn’t rush to answer.

He stayed right there with her—forehead to forehead, breath warm and steady, hands still firm at her back and hip like he was quietly anchoring them both. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even, wrapped in that easy country calm that only came out when he meant every word.

“I should’ve called,” he admitted softly. “I know that now.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Guess I figured hearin’ your voice would’ve made it harder to hang up.”

His thumb brushed a slow arc along her side, grounding, affectionate. “But I like knowin’ you would’ve picked up. Means more than you think.”

At her apology, his brow creased just a touch—not upset, just thoughtful. He leaned back enough to look at her properly, eyes warm and steady. “You don’t owe me sorry,” he said gently. “You were out there doin’ what you needed to do. I don’t want you smallin’ yourself to fit me.”

A beat. His hand slid up, fingers spreading between her shoulder blades, holding her closer. “I just missed you. That’s all.”

When she mentioned the hat again, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, well. If the guys had seen me, I’d never hear the end of it.” His eyes softened. “Worth it, though. House felt less quiet.”

The dog suggestion made him pause—not stiffen, not deflect. Just consider. His gaze drifted briefly toward the hearth, then back to her.

“A dog, huh,” he said slowly. “Someone with too much energy and no respect for personal space sounds… familiar.” A faint grin tugged at his mouth.

He looked at her a second longer, something thoughtful settling in. “Wouldn’t hate it,” he admitted. “Might be good. For the shop. For the house.” His thumb traced a small circle over her hip. “For me.”

Her thanks landed deep. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her hairline, then rested his cheek against hers for a moment, breathing her in.

“You don’t have to thank me for lovin’ you,” he said quietly. “That part’s easy.”

At her promise, his hold tightened just a fraction—not possessive, just relieved. “Good,” he murmured. “I like you right here.”

He shifted slightly beneath her, settling them more comfortably, one hand staying at her back while the other slid to rest over her thigh—warm, familiar, steady.

“Since you’re awake,” he added after a beat, voice easing back into something lighter, “and since we’re doin’ honesty tonight…”

His eyes lifted to hers, curious and open.

“Tell me somethin’ you didn’t plan on tellin’ me yet.”