She didn’t answer him right away.

Mostly because she couldn’t.

Because the way he said that — the way it slipped out of him without hesitation, without performance, without trying to be anything but honest — it did something to her chest she wasn’t prepared for. Something slow. Something steady. Something she’d spent years convincing herself wasn’t meant for her.

Her fingers tightened around his, just a little, her thumb brushing the place he’d kissed like she was memorizing it.

“That’s…” she exhaled a breath that came out softer than she meant it to, “that’s dangerously sweet, Mercer.”

Her voice wasn’t teasing. Not really. And she knew he’d hear that.

She shifted closer, enough that their shoulders brushed, enough that she could feel the warmth of him even through the exhaustion still clinging to her bones. Her soup sat untouched for a moment while she absorbed the fact that she was allowed to sit here like this — allowed to want this.

“I think the Disney princess thing would’ve taken me out,” she admitted quietly, tilting her head so she could look at him. “Like… full emotional collapse. On your hallway floor.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth.

“And honestly? I think you knew that. Which is… unfairly perceptive of you.”

Their knees bumped again under the table, and she didn’t move hers away this time. She let it stay pressed to his, grounding herself in the simple fact that he was here, warm, real, steady in a way nobody ever had been for her.

She finally lifted her spoon, but before she took a bite, she nudged his arm lightly with her elbow.

“You know what the best part of my day actually was?” she asked, voice gentler than she’d planned.

She didn’t wait for him to guess.

“It was walking in here and seeing you pretend like you weren’t waiting for me,” she said with a soft laugh, eyes dropping to their joined hands. “Like you just… accidentally ended up in the exact spot I needed you in.”

She shook her head, smiling into her bowl.

“And the soup,” she added, bumping his knee once more. “Definitely the soup. Very heroic move.”

A beat.

Then she let herself lean into him again, just a hair, but enough that it was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For being… this. For making coming home feel like coming home.”

She took a slow sip of her soup, letting the warmth settle through her, then turned her head just slightly toward him — enough for her voice to soften even further.

“…and,” she added quietly, “how was your day?”

Not small talk.
Not filler.
Just genuine — the way she only ever asked when she really wanted to know.

Kai tried very, very hard not to look as undone as he felt.

But the way she leaned into him, the way her voice went all soft at the edges when she said coming home, the way she kept brushing his knee like she didn’t even realize she was doing it — yeah, no, he was gone. Absolutely done for. Someone should probably put out a PSA.

He blew out a quiet breath, one that wasn’t nearly as subtle as he hoped, and set his spoon down like answering her properly required the use of both hands.

Because it did.
Because she did.

“Well,” he said slowly, squeezing her fingers where they were still laced with his, “in the spirit of transparency… my day was aggressively mediocre.”

He tilted his head, catching her eye with that confident, crooked smile he only ever let out around her — the one that hit somewhere between teasing and sincerity.

“Couple conference calls, one existential crisis about whether I’m becoming a guy who owns decorative throw blankets, a minor battle with the garbage disposal, and—”

He paused, leaning closer just enough that his shoulder bumped hers again, this time intentional.

“—that familiar, weird moment where the house goes from Wren-level chaos back to… quiet.”

Not new.
Not shocking.
Just strange, every single time.

He exhaled softly.

“You’d think I’d be used to it by now, right? Split custody’s been our normal for a while. But it still hits the same. One minute it’s glitter explosions and requests for dinosaur-shaped pancakes, and the next it’s just… me. And the silence. And the socks she left under the coffee table.”

His thumb dragged a slow circle across the back of her hand — grounding, not dramatic.

“But honestly?” His voice warmed, softened. “Tonight it didn’t feel as weird. Because you came home.”

Then that grin returned — playful, Kai-coded, shamelessly fond.

“Which was great for my mental health, but terrible for my ability to pretend I wasn’t absolutely waiting for you like some lovesick—”

He caught himself, cleared his throat, pretended he wasn’t about to say something too honest.

“—like some very respectable, totally normal adult man who definitely didn’t check the clock more than three times.”

He nudged her bowl with the end of his spoon.

“And the soup was heroic, by the way. I accept that title. Prince Charming-energy is a heavy crown but I wear it with dignity.”

Then, softer — the kind of soft that melted the grin at the edges:

“And for the record? You leaning on me like that? Yeah. That was the best part of my day.”

He let the moment settle between them, warm and unhurried, before adding with a low hum of amusement:

“Also, if you had collapsed on the hallway floor? I would’ve picked you up. Probably dramatically. Possibly with a dip. Very storybook.”

His knee pressed gently into hers again, lingering this time.

“Just saying. Collapsing is always an option.”

Lennon didn’t stand a chance.

Not with the way he said my day was aggressively mediocre like he was confessing a federal crime.
Not with the way he squeezed her fingers when he talked about Wren’s socks under the coffee table.
Not with the way he almost said lovesick and then bailed like a man clinging to the last ounce of his dignity.

She tried—truly tried—not to betray just how much that entire ramble hit her.
But her face was absolutely not cooperating.

A slow smile pulled across her mouth, warm and a tiny bit dangerous.

“Well,” she murmured, tipping her head so her temple brushed his shoulder, “I’m glad you survived the garbage disposal and the existential throw-blanket spiral. Very heroic of you.”

His hand was still wrapped around hers.
She didn’t fix that.
She just let her thumb stroke over the back of his knuckles—slow, absentminded, like muscle memory.

“And the house going quiet…” she added, her voice lowering a little, gentler than she meant it to be, “I know that one. The shift. The… sudden stillness after too much noise.”

She nudged her foot against his under the table—soft, not playful this time. More like I hear you.

“You’re not weird for feeling it,” she said, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You’re just a really good dad.”

That landed. She saw it.
Saw the way something in his expression flickered and softened, like she’d hit a place nobody else remembered to acknowledge.

“And the socks under the coffee table?” she added with a tiny laugh, “That’s not silence. That’s Wren-level ambiance.”

His grin returned—crooked, warm, fond in a way that made her chest ache.

She leaned in a little more, their shoulders pressed now, not accidentally.

“And just so we’re clear,” Lennon continued, tone sliding into something teasing-soft, “you absolutely did wait for me like a lovesick something.”

He groaned under his breath, but she could feel him smiling.

“But,” she went on, tightening her fingers around his, “I liked it.”

She let that truth sit there, unhurried, unhidden.

“I… liked knowing someone wanted me home.”

Her spoon dropped back into her bowl with a small clink as she shifted closer, letting her knee rest against his fully, no hesitation this time.

“And the hallway collapse?” she murmured, amusement curling into the warmth of her voice, “Don’t tempt me. Because the idea of you picking me up dramatically is… honestly kind of appealing.”

She paused, eyes softening.

Then — quieter, but steady:

“And Kai… thank you. For saying all of that. For waiting. For being… this.”

Her thumb brushed his hand again, slower this time.

“You were the best part of my day,” she added.
“Even before the soup.”

Kai had no business being this affected over soup and a woman saying you were the best part of my day, and yet here he was, sitting at his own kitchen table feeling like someone had just slid open a window in his ribcage.

Because she said it like she meant it.
Because she leaned into him like she trusted him.
Because she looked at him like he didn’t have to pretend anything for her.

And yeah.
He was done for.

He tried to swallow the smile tugging at his mouth, but it kept breaking through anyway — too real, too warm, too "you’ve just emotionally dismantled me with compliments" to hide.

“Okay,” he said, voice touching the edge of a laugh but soft with something deeper, “first of all, I did not confess my aggressively mediocre day like it was a felony. That was very dignified reporting.”

A beat.

“…from a man who absolutely considered calling maintenance about the garbage disposal before remembering he is the maintenance.”

Her fingers tightened around his again, and Kai felt it — the quiet, grounding weight of it — all the way down his spine.

“And second,” he continued, shifting just enough so his shoulder pressed fully to hers, “if you call me a good dad again, I’m gonna have to pretend my allergies are acting up.”

He tipped his head so he could see her better, expression gentling without him meaning it to.

“Seriously, though… thank you. You saying that—” His jaw flexed once, the emotion sliding through him before he could filter it. “It matters. More than I can explain without ruining my cool-guy persona.”

He squeezed her hand, thumb tracing a slow arc across her skin.

“And for the record,” he added, eyes flicking to her mouth for one half-second before returning to her eyes, “lovesick is a compliment in my book. I could do worse things than be stupidly happy you exist.”

She nudged his knee again — a deliberate, steady press — and he let his own settle against hers, anchoring there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“And don’t even get me started on the dramatic hallway rescue,” Kai said, leaning in just slightly, grin blooming wide and unrepentant. “Because if you think I wouldn’t sweep you up in some extremely unnecessary, overly-princess-coded maneuver? Lennon Rae, please.”

He shook his head once, eyes bright.

“I was born for overly dramatic entrances. Give me a reason.”

Her laugh — soft and tired and gorgeous — went straight to the center of him.

But then she said thank you.
Thank you for being this.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for being the best part.

Kai’s smile softened, the edges going warm and still.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles gently against the side of her thigh beneath the table, “I didn’t wait because I had to. I waited because I wanted you home. That’s… it. No mystery.”

His voice dipped, honest in a way he rarely let himself be.

“You walked through that door, and the whole place felt right again.”

He lifted her hand, turning it palm-up so he could press a slow, lingering kiss to the center — not rushed, not jokey, but real.

“And if I was the best part of your day…” He looked up at her through his lashes, something warm and certain settling in his chest. “You were mine before you even stepped inside.”

Then — because he could never leave it too heavy without balance — he added with a crooked grin:

“Though I am taking full credit for the soup. Let’s not downplay my heroic culinary triumph.”