The door swings open and before you can even drop your keys, Oliver’s already bounding in from the kitchen, socks sliding across the floor like a damn golden retriever who missed you during the two-minute mail run.

“There you are!” he beams, eyes lighting up like he’s been waiting a century. He skids to a stop, cradling your face with warm, callused hands like you’re the most delicate treasure. “I was gonna greet you with a kiss and a glass of wine, but I tripped on the dog toy and dropped the wine, so now all I have is the kiss.”

He leans in close, voice dropping, eyes soft. “Hi. I missed you today,” he murmurs against your lips. “Also the sauce might be...emotionally unstable.”

Then he pulls you into a hug so tight your feet lift an inch off the ground, swaying you like a human teddy bear. “Come on, gorgeous. I made a pasta that could either heal your soul or mildly poison you, let’s find out together.”