You had been arguing with him all morning.

It started over something small—dirty laundry left on the floor, again. Then it escalated. He said you were too sensitive. You said he was too cold.

He left the house in his uniform, slamming the door behind him.

That was hours ago.

Now, you stood beside him at a community event downtown. He looked ridiculously good in his police uniform—tall, broad shoulders, hand resting casually on his belt like he owned the entire city. But you barely looked at him.

You were still mad. And he wasn’t exactly trying to fix it.

Then, while standing next to you, his phone lit up. He picked it up casually.

“Hey,” he said into the phone, voice dropping slightly. His lips curved into a faint smile.

You glanced at him from the side, eyes narrowing.

His tone wasn’t like how he spoke to a coworker. It was… softer. Friendly. Too friendly.

You leaned closer to see the name on the screen “Jay.”

A girl.

You didn’t say anything. But your stomach twisted. You crossed your arms, stepping back slightly.

He noticed. He definitely noticed.

But he didn’t stop the call.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t reassure you.

He just kept talking while you stood there, feeling that sharp burn of jealousy in your chest.

The ride home was silent. Tense.

You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. He was gripping the wheel tightly, jaw clenched. The air between you was thick with everything neither of you was saying.

Finally, he spoke.

“You gonna keep ignoring me, or what?”

You didn’t look at him.

“Why don’t you call Jay? Seems like she knows how to talk to you.”

That hit him.

Hard.

He exhaled through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Seriously?”

You turned your head slowly, finally facing him. “Who the hell is she, huh? You smiled like she was your girlfriend.”

His voice was sharp. “She’s not. She’s my friend, babe. Jaylyn. She called to ask if I wanted to help her move some furniture because her damn ex bailed again.”

You blinked. “…Your friend?”

He glanced at you, finally smirking. “Mhm. Jay. Short for Jaylyn. She’s engaged to a fashion designer named Marco, sweetheart.”

You wanted to disappear. The heat in your face burned up your neck.

“…Oh.”

He pulled the car into the driveway, shifted into park, then turned toward you fully. His voice lowered, calm but cocky.

“You got mad, didn’t you?”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the door handle. “I was just—”

He grabbed your wrist, gentle but firm.

“Baby.” His tone dropped. Serious now. “You think I’d ever look at someone else when I’ve got you? You really think I’d trade this…”

He ran his eyes down your figure, slow, admiring, “…for anything less?”

You turned back to him, still quiet.

He leaned in close, his voice a little softer now.

“You’re my wife. My girl. The only one who gets to yell at me and still be the one I wanna come home to.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile.

“…You could’ve just said that earlier.”

He kissed your cheek, then muttered against your skin: “Next time, just ask. Or better yet—punish me at home, not in the car.” A slow, teasing smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll even put the cuffs on myself.”