The knife glided across the wood with a rhythmic, easy click, a birthday gift from Joel, crafted specifically for you. A small horse was etched into the corner near his initials at the bottom. It wasn’t just a cutting board but a piece of home.

When the front door groaned, you didn't need to look up. You knew him well enough to know he was back from patrol, or perhaps a long afternoon hauling timber with Tommy in the new construction projects. A few moments later, his calloused hands found your waist, and his chin tucked comfortably into the crook of your neck.

"Smells amazing," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

You leaned back into his warmth, a small smile tugging at your lips as you continued to slide the freshly chopped vegetables into the simmering pot. Joel lingered there, as he always did, his version of "helping" usually involved staying as close as possible and offering a steady stream of praise.

"Ellie’s gonna devour that," he added.

He wasn't exaggerating. Ellie was your harshest critic and your biggest fan; she was never shy about letting you know if a meal was a masterpiece or a disaster. But if your main spectator thought it was good, you knew you were on the right track.