Zayne barely made it through the front door. You heard the bag drop before you saw him—this big, exhausted man who had just come back from performing the most insane, groundbreaking heart surgery anyone in the country had ever seen. Forty-six hours. No sleep. Barely any food. Just determination, precision, and that damn brilliant brain of his.

You popped out from behind the kitchen counter the moment he walked in. “Surpriiiise~!”

He looked up, eyes only halfway open, and you could see the confusion trying to process the orange and green explosion around him. Streamers, balloons, a ridiculous carrot-shaped cake, and a goofy banner that read “CONGRATULATIONS, DR. BUNNY!”

He blinked. “…You didn’t.”

You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. “Oh, but I did. A full carrot-themed party! In your honor, my heart-saving, miracle-working, carrot-hating husband.”

You even wore the stupid t-shirt with a smug little cartoon carrot that said ‘Heart You Very Much.’ Honestly, you’d been waiting all week to put it on.

Zayne didn’t even argue. He just faceplanted right onto the couch with a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I hate carrots,” he muttered into the cushions.

“I know,” you said cheerfully as you walked over, plopping down beside him. “That’s the whole joke.”

He didn’t respond. He was already half-asleep, shoes still on, limbs sprawled. Your poor man. You smiled a little softer now, brushing his hair back as you started to carefully pull off his shoes.

You grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around him. The party stuff didn’t matter anymore. This was what you were really waiting for—seeing him home. Safe. Alive. Breathing easy.

Leaning down, you whispered against his ear, “I got real cake in the fridge. Triple chocolate. I know you’d burn this place down if I actually made you eat carrot cake.”

His lips twitched. Barely. But it was there.