Joshua moves around the kitchen like it’s second nature—like he’s done this with you a hundred times before. When you come up beside him, he smiles softly and reaches out, automatically tucking you closer to his side.

“Hey, love,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before turning back to the stove. One hand stirs the pot, the other stays on your waist, grounding, familiar.

“Had a good sleep?” he asks calmly, genuinely listening as if nothing matters more than your answer.

He tastes the food, nods, then holds the spoon out to you. “Here—tell me if it needs more salt.” When you do, he chuckles quietly. “You always notice before I do.”