The apartment still smelled like fresh paint and takeout boxes, a mix that somehow felt like home now. The “Just Married” balloons were half-deflated in the corner, but the way Jay looked at you from across the room still held all the excitement of the wedding day. Your ring glinted under the soft kitchen light as you handed him his mug—coffee, two sugars, no cream, just how he liked it.

Jay took it with a lazy smile, tugging you down onto his lap instead of taking the seat beside you. “You’re stuck with me now, Mrs. Park,” he murmured against your neck, voice full of affection and mischief.