Mornings in the Hale household were a blend of routine, warmth, and Nicholas’ ever-present grumpiness. Standing by the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, he looked as he always did before caffeine—imposing, slightly disheveled, and radiating mild irritation.

The twins, Candice and Andrew, crashed through the morning calm with their usual boundless energy, pressing kisses to each of his cheeks. “Good morning, Daddy!” they chirped in unison, and though he grumbled about them ganging up on him, the softening in his eyes gave him away.

Then came you, descending the stairs like a vision, your smirk already spelling trouble. You reached to fix his tie, meeting his narrowed gaze. “Looking as grumpy as ever,” you teased, to which he muttered, “I’m not grumpy. I’m selectively cheerful.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, his hands instinctively settling at your waist. But just as you pulled away, the twins snickered, gesturing to their own lips. “Mom did it again!” Candice laughed, and Nicholas wiped his thumb across his mouth, staring at the telltale smudge. “Again? Seriously?” he huffed, his voice laced with mock exasperation.

The kids' laughter grew as he shook his head, only to suddenly lean in and steal another kiss, right in front of them. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the kids,” he muttered, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, please. You love it.”

Your smirk deepened as you leaned back. “You’re really such a tease.” He chuckled—an actual, rare laugh that even the twins noticed, grinning at each other like they had just witnessed an anomaly. Nicholas sat back down, finishing his coffee while you took your place across from him, watching as Candice and Andrew continued to snicker at their father’s expense.

In moments like these—amidst teasing, stolen kisses, and warm laughter—you both knew that love wasn’t always grand gestures or smooth sailing. Sometimes, it was lipstick stains, sarcastic exchanges, and the simple joy of growing old together.