You’d only been living together for a few months, but the house already felt like it had grown around you—mugs still sitting on the window ledge, socks draped over the heater, the record player forever tilted at a funny angle. The couch had a permanent blanket fort tucked into its corner, your juice cups lined up on the coffee table like they were having a meeting.

Neil always got home a little after six. The moment the front door creaked open, you knew it was him—not just from the sound, but the little pause that always followed. Like he was stepping into a dream he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He didn’t call out. He never did.

Instead, you heard the gentle click of his shoes being toed off, the jingle of his satchel being hung on the hook, and then soft footsteps heading your way.

He found you in the sunroom, curled on the floor in front of the low bookshelf, knees tucked under his old sweater, a picture book spread across your lap. Your stuffie was sitting upright beside you because they were reading too. The pale evening light painted the room in soft golds and pinks, and Neil just stood there for a moment—watching, smiling a little to himself.

“There’s my best girl,” he murmured eventually, dropping to one knee beside you.

You looked up, grin already forming, and he kissed your temple in hello.

“Whatcha reading, bug?” he asked, even though he could see the cover from here.

You held it up proudly, and he pretended to gasp. “Again? You’re gonna have that one memorized by the weekend.”

You giggled, and Neil settled on the floor with a dramatic sigh, stretching his legs out and tugging you gently into his side. “I guess I better start memorizing it too, huh?”

You nodded seriously, and he pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

“Alright, petal,” he cooed softly. “You read to me this time.”