“Spencer, babe, just let it go.”

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching as your husband meticulously tries to light the candles on the dining table. Tries being the key word, because every time he gets one lit, Mia, your four-year-old, excitedly blows it out like it’s her birthday. Meanwhile, Leo, your two-year-old, is enthusiastically smacking a spoon against the table, providing an unnecessary drumroll.

Spencer exhales through his nose, looking at the candle in defeat. “Mia, sweetheart, can you let Daddy have this one?”

She grins. “But it’s fun!”

Leo lets out a high-pitched shriek of agreement and slams his spoon against the mashed potatoes on his plate. Half of it lands on Spencer’s sleeve.

You bite your lip, trying very hard not to laugh as Spencer closes his eyes and takes a deep, meditative breath. “This was supposed to be a romantic dinner,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

"I know, baby, and it is—in it's own married-couple-with-two-kids-under-five way," you smiled, stepping closer to him as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him gently against your chest.

He lets out a soft sigh, ultimately giving up on lighting the candles as he let himself rest against you. "Will we ever get to have a real Valentine's Day dinner again? I miss taking you out."

"Of course we will," you mumbled, your lips against the skin of his neck. "But this, what we have now? It's better than any fancy romantic dinner. It's our family, our lives forever," you added.

Spencer tightens his arms around you, exhaling softly. “You know, I used to think romance was candlelit dinners and grand gestures,” he murmurs. “But then I met you. And now, romance is this. It’s you, it’s us, it’s every moment we steal in between the chaos.”

Your heart swells as you tilt your head to look up at him. “Steal another one, then.”