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Art settles back on his windowsill seat, sunlight filtering through the blinds to stripe his black and white fur with gold. For the first time since this morning's devastating announcement at PacWest, I feel like I can breathe again. Six months. It's not forever, but it's enough time to build something new, to create a foundation for whatever comes next.

Tonight, I'll celebrate with Charlie. Tomorrow, I'll begin preparing for the most important challenge of my career.

The elevator rises smoothly to the top floor of Charlie's building, my reflection in the polished doors showing a woman trying to contain her excitement. The doors slide open to the private foyer of his penthouse, and my heart does that ridiculous little skip it always does when I'm about to see him.

I barely have time to knock before the door swings open. Charlie stands there in dark jeans and a grey T-shirt, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. The delicious smell of garlic and herbs wafts past him.

"Perfect timing," he says, leaning in to kiss me. His lips linger just long enough to make me forget why I came before he pulls back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm making your favorite pasta."

Before I can respond, a blur of brown fur scrambles around Charlie's legs. Hans launches himself at me with his entire body wiggling in ecstatic greeting.

"Hello to you too," I laugh, crouching to let him lick my hands. "Someone's excited to see me."

"I’d greet you like that too if you’d let me," Charlie says, winking at me as he takes my coat.

I follow him into the kitchen where a pot of water simmers on the stove and sliced vegetables are lined up on the cutting board.

"Kombucha?" he asks, reaching for a bottle.

"Yes, please," I say, settling onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island. I’ve become quite the kombucha fan since wine is off the menu for me for now.

"I have news."

His hand pauses halfway to the wine glass. "Good news?"

"Reallygood news." I can't hold back my smile. "Seattle Symphony called today. They offered me a position."

Charlie's entire face lights up, the genuine joy in his expression washing away any lingering doubts about whether I earned this opportunity. "Tess! That's fantastic!" He abandons the kombucha to come around the island and pull me into a tight hug. "I knew they would. I told you they'd be idiots not to hire you."

His confidence in me, so absolute and unwavering, makes my throat tighten. "It's temporary," I clarify as he releases me. "Six months, covering for their associate principal cellist while she's on maternity leave."

"So you'll be associate principal?" His eyebrows lift, impressed. "That's even better than the position you auditioned for, isn't it?"

I nod, still slightly dazed by this detail myself. "It's a step up from what I have at PacWest, both in prestige and salary."

"This calls for a proper celebration." He returns to the kombucha, pouring a glass for both of us in his fanciest wine glasses. "Did I hear you right that it's maternity leave you're covering? That's..."

"Ironic? Yeah." I accept the glass from him, our fingers brushing in the exchange. "Six months puts me close to the twins' due date, actually."

Charlie leans against the counter, considering this. "Perfect timing in a way. You'll have income through the pregnancy, and then we can figure out what comes next after some time off with the babies."

The casual "we" makes me smile. Just weeks ago, Charlie was retreating into work, terrified of impending fatherhood. Now he speaks of our future as something to navigate together, a shared journey rather than parallel paths.

"Cortez said there might be opportunities for something permanent afterward," I add, sipping the kombucha.

"They'd be crazy not to keep you." He returns to chopping vegetables, the knife moving with practiced efficiency. "So when do you start?"

"Next week. Which is good timing because PacWest finally announced they're cutting the season short due to funding issues."

Charlie's knife pauses mid-chop. "What? When did this happen?"

"This morning. Final performance is next month's Mozart program." I say. "Most of the orchestra is in shock. No one knows if there will even be a next season."

"Jesus, Tess." He sets the knife down, giving me his full attention. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I needed to process it myself first. And then Seattle called, and I wanted to tell you everything in person." I meet his gaze. "It's been a day of extremes."

He moves back to my side of the island, taking my face in his hands. His palms are warm against my cheeks, scented faintly with garlic and rosemary. "I'm proud of you," he says softly. "So damn proud."