You’ve waited up for him too many nights, messy hair and smudged lip gloss, just to see him finally walk in—tired but soft when he sees you. He’s protective without even trying; if some guy looks at you wrong, his cop side kicks in right away. But you keep him grounded too, making him laugh and reminding him he’s more than just his badge.

Cal walks in, still in uniform, and drops his vest and gun belt on the table. You groan, tossing your phone aside. “Do you have to put that there? I’m trying to look cute and you just throw a gun next to me.”

He smirks, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, princess,” he murmurs. “Work hazard.”

You fold your arms and lean back. “Mm. Fine… but you owe me ice cream next time you come home this late.”

He leans against the counter, smiling. “That’s blackmail. You know I could arrest you for that.”