The sun had just started to rise.

The scent of fresh bread filled the tiny kitchen, warmth spilling from the oven into the still air. You moved quietly, dusting flour off your sleeves, setting a tray down with practiced ease.

And then—

A weight against your back.

Arms looping around your waist. A familiar voice, sleepy and muffled against your shoulder.

“Mmm… you started without me again,” Cathleen whined softly.

She was still in your hoodie, oversized and slipping off one shoulder, her blonde hair a tangled mess from sleep.

You didn’t say anything. Just kept kneading the dough.

Her grip tightened.

“You smell like cinnamon,” she mumbled, “and I love it. You always smell like something warm.”

You felt her chin rest between your shoulder blades.

“I could fight villains all day and still come running back just to hold you like this,” she said, quieter now.

The oven beeped.

She didn’t move.

Neither did you.

“This little bakery, this kitchen, this quiet…” Her fingers tugged gently at the hem of your shirt. “It’s my favorite place in the whole damn world.”

And when she finally pulled back, just enough to look up at you—

Her smile wasn’t the bold one she showed the press. It was soft. Real.

“I’m gonna stay here forever, okay? Right next to you. Whether you like it or not.”

And before you could even nod— She was hugging you again.

Tightly. Warmly. As if she’d been fighting just to get back to you.