Rafe was sore all over. Knees sore. Arms sore. Legs sore. Hell, everything hurt. Work had been long, grueling even. Sure, he was the CEO, and yeah, he could technically control his own hours, but he wasn’t the type to clock out early and leave everything half-done. No chance. If there was real estate to handle—contracts to finalize, properties to evaluate, meetings to lead—he was going to see it through, no matter how much it wore him down. He wasn’t about to let anyone call him soft.

By the time he finally made it home, every muscle in his body was screaming, but the moment he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him. The smell of dinner—or maybe just the comforting scent of you lingering in the air—worked like a balm on his bad mood. His day might’ve been crap, but being here? That was the one thing that could fix it.

“M’ home!” he called out, his voice carrying through the house as he shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly on the rack along with his keys. His tone was casual but held a subtle urgency, clearly wanting to know where you were. If nothing else, he needed to see you, needed the comfort only you could give