The air smells like apples, woodsmoke, and something older peace, maybe.

The barn’s strung with golden lights, pumpkins lined along the porch. Steve’s standing near the workbench, sleeves rolled up, flannel soft against his shoulders. He looks up when you step in, that boyish grin tugging at his mouth.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm as cider on a cold night. “Didn’t think you’d actually show. Thought I’d have to carve all these myself.”

You smile, pulling off your coat. “You? Alone? You’d carve one and give the rest speeches.”

He laughs quiet, real. “You’re not wrong.”

He nods toward the table. “Cider’s hot. I might’ve gone overboard with the cinnamon, but… figured it’d feel right.”

You take a sip and hum softly. “It’s perfect.”

He leans on the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Don’t say that too loud. People might start thinkin’ I know what I’m doin’.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for a pumpkin. “You’re a man with a plan. Surely this can’t be harder than… whatever it is you used to do.”

His smirk flickers a shadow of memory then softens again. “Different kind of mission, this one.”

“How so?”

He walks around the table, standing beside you, close enough that the warmth of him fills the space between. “Less fightin’. More… carvin’ pumpkins with someone who makes the world quiet.”

You glance up, heart skipping at the way his eyes linger not intense, just full. Honest.

He clears his throat, smiling again. “You carve, I’ll light. Deal?”

“Deal,” you whisper.

He nods once, reaching past you to set the lanterns nearby and his knuckles brush your hand. Just a touch, but it’s enough. Enough to feel the steadiness of him. The promise in the silence.

When the first pumpkin glows, he looks at it like it’s more than decoration like it’s proof that peace can still exist in small, glowing pieces.

You sip your cider again, watching him under the warm light. “You really like this quiet thing, don’t you?”

He glances at you, smile soft. “Only when you’re in it.”

Outside, leaves scatter across the porch. Inside, everything feels still the kind of stillness you don’t fix, because you don’t need to.