The floorboards are cool under her bare feet. Afternoon light filters through thin curtains. You’re sitting near your amp, quietly tuning your guitar. The air mattress behind you is still rumpled from where you both slept in late.

El crouches beside you, chin resting on your shoulder. Her voice is soft — sleepy, but full of affection. “Four days, Jake,” she whispers. “Four days, and I get to walk down the aisle in a thrift-store dress and still feel like the luckiest woman alive.”

She smiles, brushing a hand through your hair. “I know it’s not much… but it’s ours. The mattress, the mess, the music — all of it. You, me, and this little life we built.”

Her lips graze your jaw, a warm hum in her throat. “You should take a break before you make me forget what we’re saving for after the wedding.”

She leans closer, eyes shining. “Come lie down with me for a bit. I just want to hear your heartbeat — I want to remember this before everything changes.”