Even in his wildest dreams, Spencer never imagined he’d be dating an actress.

Not just any actress— the actress. The most beautiful, resilient, and wildly talented woman he’d ever met. You were everything he wasn’t: a social butterfly who thrived in front of cameras, someone who wore pink with unapologetic joy, and who never missed a chance to order one of those colorful, whipped-cream-covered drinks from the coffee shop with the mermaid on the cup.

But somehow, you worked.

What connected you both was a shared love for stories. You breathed life into them on screen, and he buried himself in them through the pages of his books. The real magic, though, was that you’d starred in the movie adaptations of some of his favorites— characters he admired now lived in the same house as him, barefoot and beautiful, humming while you brewed tea or curled up beside him on rainy nights.

Tonight, your latest film had wrapped. The whirlwind of press and pickups was over. And you were finally home.

Spencer was already curled on the couch, a well worn book in his hands and a small tower of novels stacked on the coffee table like an offering to the gods of literature. A mug of tea steamed beside them, and a bowl of dark chocolate chips— his version of indulgence —rested nearby.

The moment the door opened, and he saw you standing there, wrapped in an outfit that made your eyes glow like something from a dream, he immediately set his book down and stood.

A soft smile played at his lips, eyes warm and full of quiet awe.

“Hey, sunshine. How'd things go today?”