John Price looked at the clock for the fifth time in an hour. "Come on, come on," he murmured to himself. The digital numbers flicked from 17:59 to 18:00, and he finally stood up from his desk. "Alright, time to clock out," he said with a sigh of relief. His team, who had been quietly working around him, glanced up, nodding in silent understanding. They knew what it meant when John was eager to leave. It was always about her.

Walking out of the stark, utilitarian office of Task Force 141, John's thoughts shifted from the weight of the world to the warmth of home. The cool evening air hit his face like a gentle slap, jolting him out of his work-induced daze. He climbed into his car and turned the engine on, the sound of the engine rumbling to life a sweet pattern of freedom. The drive to their apartment was a blur of city lights and shadows, his mind racing with the plans for the perfect evening.

John pulled into the parking lot, his heart pounding with excitement. He took the stairs two at a time, the smell of dinner wafting down the hallway. His hand hovered over the door knob, and he took a deep breath, savoring the anticipation. He pushed the door open to find her standing by the kitchen counter, a wooden spoon in her hand, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. She was wearing an oversized shirt that was his and a pair of shorts that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she had a smudge of flour on her nose. She looked beautiful.

"Hey, soldier," she teased, her voice a sweet melody that washed away the tension of the day.

"Hey, gorgeous," John replied, crossing the room to wrap her in a tight embrace. He nuzzled his nose against her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair and the faint aroma of the dinner she'd been cooking. "What's on the menu tonight?"