The rollercoaster of emotions I’ve gone through over the last few hours isn’t lost on me.

From being happy she asked me to come over, to being worried when she told me about the woman outside the gym.

And now, the unmatched level of contentment as I sit here with her curled into my chest in the corner of the couch.

Whatever movie she picked plays in the background, but I couldn’t tell you a single plot point.

All I see is her . The gentle rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers absentmindedly run over the veins in my forearm, and the scent of her lavender shampoo that hangs in the air between us.

I rest my head against hers, breathing her in before breaking the silence. “I’m really glad you called.”

She pauses the movie and turns in my arms so she’s facing me.

Our lips are only a breath apart like this.

It’s the kind of close that makes me hyper-aware of how easy it would be to erase the space.

To take what I wish I knew I could have had for the past two years.

I could so easily lay her down and kiss the hell out of her, but I don’t.

Instead, I whisper, “I missed you.” And I did. We had an away game this week, meaning I haven’t had my fix of her for four days.

Her eyes search my face for something, maybe reassurance, or she’s trying to find a lie.

Try as she might, she won’t find one. In the span of a month, this woman has buried herself so deep underneath my skin that when she’s not around, it’s like I’m missing a limb.

Her absence is palpable, the silence is heavy, and I itch to have her back in my orbit the second she leaves it.

An addiction I can’t quite break. One I don’t think I want to.

Her lips part slowly as she breathes, “Missed you too.”

Those three little words act as a vacuum, sucking all the available air out of the room.

There are no biting remarks, no quick-witted jabs to try to keep each other at arm's length. There’s no lying to Hannah about where she’s going, so we can see each other.

It’s just us. Bare. No outside influences, no hindrances.

She swings her legs over mine, as her arms wrap around my middle, fitting herself to me like a glove. My hand threads into the soft strands of her hair, slowly rubbing the pads of my fingers across her scalp. She sighs as she melts further into me.

“Tate?”

“Hmm?” I softly say, not wanting to disrupt the peace we’ve created.

I feel it as she takes a deep breath, her body relaxing even more. “Thank you.”

Pulling back, I place a soft kiss on her temple, lingering for a second as my eyes close, and I breathe her in.

I never had moments like this with Nikki, it was always where we could go or what we could do that put the most amount of eyes on us.

With Abby, it’s simple. It’s something that, for the time being, is just ours.

“You’re welcome,” I finally say as my forehead meets the top of her head. I don’t ask what for. I don’t need to. The silence stretches as we find comfort in the presence of one another, and soon sleep takes over.

Thud .

The remote falls to the floor, making us both jump. Our eyes meet briefly before smiles take over our faces. Hers shines bright and unfiltered. Would anyone even believe this if they walked in right now? Us wrapped up on the couch, not bickering, no arguing, simply existing?

I stretch my arms over my head as I look at the clock. It’s only eight, and we haven’t actually eaten dinner; just ice cream. “Can I interest you in dinner and a show?”

Her eyebrows immediately shoot toward her hairline. “What kind of show are we talking here, Sunshine?”

A smirk crosses my face. This is where my covert observation skills come in handy.

We read a book once where this guy made his wife dinner after she had a rough day, but then he saw her watching him move through the kitchen, so he turned it into a production.

Singing into a wooden spoon, doing spins, and purposely falling on the floor just to make her laugh.

I remember Abby saying something along the lines of, ‘Aww, how sweet. I hope that kind of love finds its way to me one day.’ I’ve decided that today is the day.

“Come on,” I say as I offer her my hand, “Let's have some fun.”

I pull her into the kitchen, immediately rummaging through the fridge. It’s, of course, stocked because Abby is the macro police, always having to have the proper protein to carb to fat ratios. I pull out two steaks, twisting my head to look at her over my shoulder.

Busted.

Her eyes are glued firmly to my ass, again, so I shake it. Just a little. Her cheeks immediately turn bright red, and I can’t help the in ternal celebration that breaks out in my chest. “Were you planning on cooking these for anyone?”

She shakes her head, too flustered to form words.

Perfect, pan-seared ribeye with mini gold potatoes, it is.

I heat the cast iron skillet, placing an obscene amount of butter in the middle.

As I season the steaks, the kitchen fills with the delicious aroma of butter and salt.

I set the steaks in the pan, reveling in that satisfying sizzle.

The potatoes go in the air fryer next. Everything is going as planned.

I believe it’s showtime.

I quickly hop onto the kitchen island like I’m doing parkour. She startles, her hand flying to her chest. “What in the actual hell are you doing?” I don’t answer, just start swaying my hips. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Tatum...”

I drop it low, her jaw drops lower. I meet her shocked stare as I straighten my legs, dragging my hands up my shins, then my quads, then my chest. Exaggerating every movement because if I’m doing this, I’m fully committing to the act. “I promised you a show, didn’t I?”

She blinks, lips parting slightly, before her head tilts back behind her. A laugh so pure, so real tumbles from her, that it damn near stops my heart in its tracks. If I drop dead right now, knowing I made her laugh like this? I’d die a happy man.

She steps away, flipping the steaks before digging through her bag. Whatever she pulls out, she hides it behind her back as she makes her way back over to me. There’s a smug gleam in her eyes as she says, “Keep going, Magic Mike.”

Ahh, a challenge. I do love a challenge, so I do just that. Turning my back to her, I drop it again, one arm raised above my head t o pull the dramatics into it. I turn to look at her over my shoulder when something flutters past my face.

Is that?... My body whips around. It’s raining cash.

I gape at her as she tosses bill after bill into the air, her smirk growing bigger as she continues to provide rain in the form of paper money. “Are you–” I swipe a bill from the air on its descent. “You actually have singles on hand for this?”

She shrugs, “Like a good Girl Scout, I’m always prepared.” She tosses one at my face. I slide off the counter, doubling over, laughter rolling through me so violently that my stomach aches. She’s right there with me, bent over, gasping for air. We sound like a couple of cackling old hens.

It’s ridiculous, completely ridiculous. But for the first time in a really long time, I don’t care.

By the time we settle at the island, my cheeks hurt from smiling.

I couldn’t tell you the last time that happened.

Abby pops a bite of steak into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A sound that has me pausing with my fork halfway to my mouth.

She doesn’t notice me staring at her as she chews thoughtfully before kicking off our favorite game.

“Question time!”

I chew the rest of the bite I had just put in my mouth, but can’t hide the smile that slowly spreads across my face. “Hit me.”

She leans in slightly, eyes shining. “If you could describe me in three words, what would they be?” Danger zone, she doesn’t even realize what she’s asking me.

I shift in my chair, suddenly too aware of how close we are. Confident, “Annoying,” I say as I watch a scowl form on her face. Decisive, “Bossy. ”

Her foot knocks against mine. “Careful, Baby Wilder.” I grin, but when she raises a brow, waiting for me to finish, I freeze. Irresistible.

I clear my throat. “Predictable.”

She gasps, “Well, that’s rich coming from you, Mr. I Only Wear Black and Kick Soccer Balls.”

I chuckle, but she doesn’t let me relax. “Okay, fine. What’s your death row meal?”

“Filet Mignon with a baked potato loaded with bacon, cheese, and butter.” She smiles around her fork, her eyes meeting mine before quickly returning to her plate. “What’s yours?” I ask with genuine interest.

She swallows, bringing my attention to her neck. The slender, sun-kissed column that my hand looks magnificent settled at the base of. “Chicken Parm. And lots of breadsticks.” I make a mental note to make that sometime in the near future.

“You said you paint, what's your favorite object to paint? Or is it more abstract?” she asks as she wipes the corner of her mouth with her napkin. I love that she’s asking about this.

It isn’t the first time since we’ve been back that she’s asked, either.

Maybe I’ll bring her to my apartment and let her rummage through the collection I’ve got going on there.

“It used to be people, but then the whole Nikki thing happened, and it turned into the first thing that came to mind mixed with whatever my emotions were at the time. A way to get them out, if you will.” I grab my phone and pull up the one I made just yesterday, flipping it to where she can see it. I hear her sharp intake of air.