the door creaked open just after six, the familiar sound of lottie’s keys dropping into the ceramic bowl by the front door echoing through the quiet apartment.

“babe?” you called from the kitchen, barefoot and flour-dusted, a half-made pie crust on the counter.

“hi, sweetheart,” lottie replied, her voice warm, worn from the day. she appeared in the doorway a second later, still in her work youth center hoodie, curls a little messy, cheeks a little flushed. in her hands: daisies this time. bright and slightly uneven, like she’d picked them in a hurry.

you smile softly, not surprised. “you know you don’t have to keep doing that.” “i know,” lottie said, stepping forward to hand them over, “but you smile like it’s the first time every time.”

you take them gently, touched by how real that always felt. “that’s because you bring them like you mean it.”

“i do,” lottie said, slipping her arms around your waist, resting her forehead against your own. “these kids at the centre talk all day about who they wanna grow up to be. and every time i just think, i wanna keep coming home to you with flowers. that’s it.”

you kiss her, softly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously in love.”