Childofthegarden

A Love Written in the Stars: Prologue ✦ Part One ✦ Part Two ✦

Solar Return ☾

Made For This ✦ Mother's Day Special

Harmony on Ice ✦

Set Sail for Love ☾

The Softest Sunday ✦ Mother's Day Special

Melodies of Us ✦

Drumming Heartbeats ☾

Two Lines and a Lifetime ✦ Mother's Day Special

Blooming With Love ✦ Part Two ✦

Birthday Bliss ✦

Sun Kissed Skin ✦

You hadn’t meant to take the test today.

You hadn’t even circled Mother’s Day on the calendar this year—it hurt too much. The past few had come and gone with quiet grief, silent prayers, and aching emptiness. Too many losses. Too many nights spent curled into Danny’s chest, his arms wrapped tight around you while you cried without sound, your fingers clinging to the hope you were afraid to name.

But this morning, something felt… different.

You sat on the bathroom floor in silence, hands shaking, the test balanced on the edge of the sink. Danny was still asleep in bed, wrapped in the covers, unaware of the storm building quietly in the next room.

You almost didn’t look.

And then you did.

Two lines.

Clear. Bold. Immediate.

Your breath left your body like it had been knocked out of you. You didn’t cry. You couldn’t move. You just stared, one hand slowly covering your mouth as something bloomed in your chest—a warmth so unfamiliar it nearly hurt: hope.

You climbed back into bed, limbs trembling. Danny stirred, his eyes opening slowly. “Babe? You okay?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.

You didn’t speak. You just handed him the test.

He blinked at it. Once. Twice. Then sat up slowly, looking between the test and your face, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

And then—

“Are you serious?” he whispered.

You nodded, breath catching. “It’s real. I—I didn’t even expect it. I almost didn’t test. But I just… I had to know. Something felt different.”

Danny pulled you into his arms so tightly, it nearly knocked the breath from you again. But this time, you didn’t mind. You buried your face in his chest as he held you, rocking slightly, one hand pressed protectively to the small of your back, the other tangled in your hair.

You were both crying now—quiet, overwhelmed sobs that didn’t need words. Because the silence had said everything for months. And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence had broken into something beautiful.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, over and over again. “You’re going to be a mom.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your cheeks wet with tears. “I didn’t even realize what today was until I saw the lines,” you breathed. “It’s Mother’s Day.”

Danny choked out a small, emotional laugh, brushing your hair back and kissing your forehead. “Of course it is,” he murmured. “Of course it would be today. After everything… the universe finally picked today.”

Later, he made you breakfast with shaky hands, kept kissing your knuckles when he handed you the tea, like he couldn’t believe you were real. You sat in the kitchen still in pajamas, the soft sunlight making everything feel wrapped in gold.

There was no big celebration. No cards. No grand gestures.

Just the kind of quiet that only comes after a storm—the kind where the air is clearer, the ground steadier, the sky wide open above you.

Danny walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “This is the beginning,” he said, voice thick. “I can feel it. We’re gonna get to keep this one. I just know it.”

You reached up to hold his hand, resting it against your belly even though it was still flat.

“I already love them,” you whispered.

“I already love you,” he replied.

And that night, you fell asleep tangled in Danny’s arms, the pregnancy test still tucked in the drawer beside the bed like a secret too precious to leave out in the open. For the first time in a long time, you dreamed of a future—and it didn’t hurt to look at it.

Because this time… it was really happening.

And somehow, impossibly, Mother’s Day had finally become yours.

The rest of the morning passed like a dream. You and Danny moved through the house like you were walking through sunlight—quietly, carefully, as if saying it out loud too many times might make it disappear. But it didn’t. It stayed with you. Real. Growing. Yours.

He couldn’t stop touching you—not in a possessive way, but in awe. A hand brushing your back. Fingers tracing your wrist. His palm resting reverently over your belly, even though there was nothing to see yet.

“Do you think they know already?” he asked softly at one point, kneeling in front of you while you sat on the couch wrapped in one of his sweatshirts. “Do you think they can feel it?”

You smiled through the fresh wave of tears. “I hope they feel how wanted they are. How loved.”

Danny leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your stomach, holding it there for a few quiet moments. “You’re not even here yet, little one,” he murmured, “and I’d already give you the world.”

He spent the rest of the day taking care of you—not in the way people treat someone fragile, but with a tenderness born from watching you survive pain he couldn’t fix. He made you your favorite lunch and refilled your water like it was sacred. He brought you a blanket and curled up behind you on the couch, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, hand never leaving your belly.

“I know we’ve been here before,” he whispered into your hair. “The fear. The waiting. But this feels different. Like a promise instead of a maybe.”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to be afraid this time.”

“Then let’s hope. Together. Every day.”

Evening fell slowly, casting everything in gold and softening the edges of the world. You walked into the nursery—unfinished still, just a room with soft light and bare walls. But it had always been waiting. Danny followed behind you and stood in the doorway, quiet, watching you.

You turned to him. “We’ll need to finish painting soon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He crossed the room and took your face gently in his hands. “We will,” he said. “We’re going to fill this room. With color. With laughter. With all the love we never stopped holding onto.”

He kissed you then—slow, deep, a little tearful. The kind of kiss that says we made it this far. We’re still standing. We’re still hoping.

That night, he lit candles in the bedroom and ran you a warm bath, lavender-scented and full of little flower petals he said he found at the farmers’ market last week “just in case.” He sat outside the tub, his arms draped on the edge, talking to your belly like he already knew your baby’s soul.

When you climbed into bed, wrapped in his sweatshirt, damp hair against the pillow, he laid beside you with his forehead touching yours. “You’re already the best mom,” he whispered. “And next year… you’ll have a baby in your arms.”

And this time, you believed him.

Because something had shifted in the universe.

This Mother’s Day didn’t come with empty hands.

It came with a spark. A heartbeat. A second chance.

And in Danny’s arms, with two pink lines resting in a drawer beside you, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

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The morning was quiet in that peaceful, golden way that spring sometimes offers when the world knows to be gentle. You stirred beneath the covers, your hand instinctively resting over your belly—round, warm, and full of life. A tiny kick met your palm and you smiled, eyes still closed, heart already full.

You heard soft footsteps outside the bedroom door, followed by the creak of it opening, and then Sam’s voice—low and sweet and full of sunshine.

“Morning, mama.”

You opened your eyes to find him standing there barefoot, curls a little messy, tray in hand. A little vase of peonies, scrambled eggs, toast with honey, and your favorite herbal tea. He was grinning like he’d waited all week for this.

“It’s not officially your first Mother’s Day,” he said, walking over and setting the tray gently on your lap, “but I couldn’t wait another year to celebrate you.”

Your eyes welled instantly. “Sam…”

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to kiss your temple, then your bump. “She’s in there kicking like she agrees with me.”

You let out a tearful laugh and threaded your fingers through his.

“I know we still have a few weeks,” he murmured, “but I see you already being her mom. The way you talk to her. The way you rest your hands on your belly like you’re protecting her from the whole world. You already love her in that way that only a mother can.”

You looked at him, barely breathing, your heart caught somewhere between a sob and a kiss.

“I made something,” he added, a little shyly now. “It’s kind of silly. But I wanted her to have it.”

From behind his back, he pulled out a worn leather journal—thin, but filled. On the cover, he had written:

“To My Daughter: The World Before You.”

You flipped it open, breath catching.

Inside were pages and pages of handwritten entries. Little letters. Notes about the day you found out you were pregnant. Sam’s thoughts on names. Sketches of the nursery before it was finished. A page filled with potential lullaby lyrics. Lists of favorite books and childhood memories. And then—your name.

A full page, written about you.

Your mama is soft and strong. She laughs with her whole face. She sings in the car. She cries during commercials. She holds love in her bones and gives it without hesitation. And every night, she lays her hands over you and whispers, “I love you.” You won’t remember it, but I will. I will always remember it.

You couldn’t hold back the tears this time. You reached for him and he held you, gently, like you were the most sacred thing in the world.

“Sam… this is everything.”

He kissed your cheeks, your hands, the corner of your lips. “You’re everything.”

Later, you spent the day in the garden. Sam had set up a little picnic blanket beneath the blooming dogwood tree, the air full of petals and promise. He played music softly on the speaker—mostly instrumental, mostly things he said reminded him of you.

He massaged your feet. He told your belly stories. He laid his head in your lap and talked about what it would be like the first time he held her. He promised to change diapers and sing lullabies and be there through every sleepless night.

“She’s going to be born into so much love,” he whispered, fingers brushing softly over your bump. “Because of you.”

That night, after a warm bath and quiet dinner, Sam helped you into bed, pulling the covers up gently and curling around you, hand resting over your belly as your daughter shifted beneath it.

“She’s going to come soon,” you whispered, half in a dream.

Sam kissed your shoulder. “And when she does, she’s going to know—she was loved before her first breath.”

You fell asleep like that, with Sam’s hand on your belly and his voice murmuring soft words to the girl who would soon change your world forever.

And when she arrived a few weeks later, tiny and perfect, your first real Mother’s Day already lived in her heart. Because it had been planted in the way Sam looked at you. In the way he loved you both. In the garden you had already begun to grow together.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky by early afternoon, casting everything in a soft, buttery glow. You and Sam were still outside, settled on a quilt in the grass beneath the dogwood tree. The blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, a few petals falling every now and then like nature’s confetti.

Sam lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, one hand trailing lazy circles over the side of your belly. Your head rested on a pillow, your body nestled into a cocoon of comfort and spring air.

“She’s moving a lot today,” you murmured, watching the subtle ripples under your shirt. “Like she knows something special is happening.”

Sam smiled, eyes full of awe. “She knows her mama is being celebrated. Maybe she’s already dramatic—like me.”

You laughed, and the sound floated into the garden like music.

Sam reached into the picnic basket again. “Okay, so… I know I already gave you the journal. But I have one more little thing.”

He pulled out a small box and handed it to you. Inside was a delicate gold necklace—simple and perfect—with a tiny pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“It’s for you,” he said softly. “And when she’s born, I got her one with a little star. You’ll be her moon. And she’ll be your light.”

You bit your lip as the tears returned, overwhelmed by how he always found the most beautiful ways to show you just how deeply he loved you.

Sam leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck, pressing a kiss to the back of it before settling in beside you again. He didn’t speak for a while, just laid there with you, his hand protectively resting over your belly, the silence between you rich with meaning.

“Do you ever get scared?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a breath. “Of being parents? Of not knowing what to do?”

Sam nodded. “All the time. But not about loving her. That part I already know how to do.”

You looked at him, eyes wet again.

“And you?” he asked gently.

“I’m scared of everything,” you whispered. “But when you hold me like this… it doesn’t feel so big.”

He kissed your forehead. “We’ll figure it all out. Together. Even if we mess up. Even if she cries and we don’t know why. She’ll always know she’s loved.”

You stayed outside until the sun dipped lower and the air cooled, your body tired in that heavy, beautiful way pregnancy brings. Sam helped you back inside, one hand always hovering near your back, the other around your waist like you were carrying stardust instead of a baby girl.

Later that night, after a long bath and your favorite pajamas, Sam wrapped you up in his arms in bed, the room quiet except for the soft hum of music and the rhythmic beat of his heart under your cheek.

“Thank you for today,” you whispered.

He kissed the top of your head. “Thank you for every day.”

You turned slightly, placing his hand over your belly again as your daughter shifted beneath it.

“Next year, she’ll be here,” you said, smiling through sleepy tears. “Next year will be different.”

“Next year,” he murmured, “we’ll celebrate you all over again—with her in our arms. But today—today was for the woman who already became her mother long before she was born.”

And with your heart resting in Sam’s hands, your daughter growing safe inside you, and the gentle rhythm of night wrapping around your little home, you closed your eyes—

Knowing that love had already made you a mother.

And Sam had already made this day unforgettable.

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The morning started with sunlight gently filtering through the curtains, birds singing outside like they knew it was a special day. You were still tangled in soft blankets when you felt a whisper of a kiss on your shoulder and the faintest trace of sandalwood and citrus—Josh.

You stirred, eyes fluttering open just as he knelt by your side of the bed, beaming.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mama,” he whispered, eyes shining like he’d waited his whole life to say it.

In his arms was the sleepiest little bundle of love—your baby, wrapped in a sage green swaddle, cheeks flushed and perfect. They yawned dramatically, and you laughed through a tear that slipped from your eye.

“I know it’s early,” Josh said with a grin, “but someone insisted we start the day with cuddles and something handmade.”

You blinked at him. “Handmade?”

He nodded proudly and helped you sit up. From behind his back, he revealed a folded piece of watercolor paper. It was a card—painted in soft pastels, a little clumsy and a little perfect. Inside was your baby’s tiny handprint in yellow and Josh’s loopy handwriting that read:

To the most beautiful mother,

You give everything your heart has—every day.

And in doing so, you’ve made our world feel whole.

You were made for this.

I’ve never loved you more.

You couldn’t stop the tears this time.

Josh climbed into bed beside you, placing your baby gently in your arms before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing the top of your head.

“I watched you become her mother,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. “And it changed everything for me. You’re soft with her, and strong. You sing to her when you think I’m not listening. You soothe her like magic. You give her this kind of love that… I don’t think words even exist for.”

You leaned into his chest, baby snuggled between you, and felt the full weight of everything—how far you’d come, how deeply you were loved, how beautifully full life had become.

Josh made breakfast while wearing your baby in a wrap on his chest, humming Fleetwood Mac as he flipped pancakes and swayed to the rhythm of her breathing. When he brought you your plate—blueberry pancakes, fresh honey, and lavender tea—he lit a candle on the tray.

“For the light of our home,” he said softly, eyes on you like you were a sunrise.

Later, the three of you spent the afternoon in the backyard on a blanket beneath the blooming trees. Josh strummed quietly on his acoustic guitar while your baby napped beside you, her tiny hand curled around your finger.

“I wrote a song,” he said after a while. “For you. For today. But I don’t think I can sing it without crying.”

“Try me,” you whispered.

And so he did. Quietly, gently, he sang words he’d poured straight from his heart—about late nights and lullabies, about the softness in your touch, and how he knew from the moment he saw you holding her that he’d never love anything more than he loved the two of you.

As the sun set in a cotton-candy sky, you curled into his side, your daughter sleeping in your lap, your body tired but your heart impossibly full.

Josh kissed your temple one last time and whispered, “You are her whole world. And mine.”

And in that perfect, quiet, love-filled moment, you knew—

This wasn’t just your first Mother’s Day.

It was the beginning of everything beautiful

That evening, the house was wrapped in the hush that only comes when a baby has finally fallen asleep for the night. Josh carried her to her crib with the most tender care, pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering, “Sweet dreams, little light.” You watched from the doorway, your heart swelling with something so fierce and gentle it made your chest ache.

Back in your bedroom, you changed into one of Josh’s old t-shirts and slipped under the quilt. He came in a moment later, barefoot, curls a little wild, carrying a little wrapped package in his hands.

“You’ve already given me everything,” you whispered, not even trying to hold back the tears anymore.

Josh smiled, sliding into bed beside you. “This isn’t for you, exactly,” he said, voice teasing and tender all at once. “It’s for her, one day.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He handed you the box. Inside was a leather-bound journal—soft and worn like it had already been held and loved a thousand times. When you opened it, your breath caught.

The first page had a photo of you in the hospital, holding your newborn, and underneath, Josh had written:

The first moment she knew you, she knew she was safe.

The next few pages were filled with memories he had written down. Your daughter’s first laugh. The day she discovered her hands. A time you sang her back to sleep in the middle of a thunderstorm. There were little sketches in the margins—messy, whimsical, full of heart.

You turned the pages slowly, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m going to keep writing in it,” he said softly, tracing the edge of the cover. “All the little moments. So when she’s older—when she’s maybe trying to figure out who she is—she’ll always know where she came from. How fiercely you loved her from the start. How much joy you brought into her life just by being you.”

You looked up at him, absolutely undone.

“Josh,” you whispered, voice shaking. “That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you so close it felt like your souls were touching. “I just want her to grow up knowing what I know: that her mother is the most extraordinary woman in the world.”

You stayed there in his arms for what felt like forever. The soft rustling of leaves outside, the creak of the old house settling, the faint sound of your baby’s breathing down the hall—it was all part of the symphony of your life together now.

“I used to think I’d find my greatest joy on stage,” Josh whispered against your skin. “But then you gave me this. This love. This home. Her. And I’d trade a thousand songs just to live one more day like this.”

Your fingers laced with his as you settled under the quilt, your heart full, your body warm with love.

And as you drifted off to sleep that night, wrapped in your husband’s arms, the scent of baby lotion still clinging to your shirt and the memory of your daughter’s sleepy smile fresh in your mind—you knew:

You would remember this day forever.

Not just as your first Mother’s Day.

But as one of the sweetest days love had ever given you.

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You woke slowly, the kind of waking that only happens when your body knows it’s safe, warm, and deeply loved. The room was filled with soft morning light, the kind that felt like it wrapped itself around you like a hug. You instinctively reached beside you for Jake—but the space was empty, still warm. A moment later, you heard the faint sound of quiet footsteps, and then the creak of the door.

Jake peeked in, his curls a little messy, his eyes shining with a soft kind of excitement. “She’s awake,” he whispered over his shoulder.

Then came the tiniest squeak. Jake stepped into the room carrying a tray in one hand and your baby—your sweet, sleepy, blinking little one—in the other. “We’ve been up for a while planning your surprise,” he said, his voice full of affection. “And by ‘planning,’ I mean I made you pancakes while someone supervised from her swing.”

He placed the tray on your lap carefully: heart-shaped pancakes, warm berries, a cup of tea in your favorite mug, and a single daisy in a bud vase. A little note was folded next to your napkin, written in Jake’s handwriting:

To the love of my life,

Watching you become her mama has been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. She has your eyes. Your heart. And she is so lucky—I am so lucky—to love you every day.

You pressed the note to your chest, already tearing up.

Jake climbed into bed beside you, laying your daughter gently in your arms. “I wanted you to wake up with both of us,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear, “because you’re the center of our whole world.”

You looked down at the tiny human resting against your chest, her little fingers curling instinctively around your shirt. She yawned, then let out a contented sigh that felt like the sweetest sound in the universe.

Jake leaned over and kissed your temple, then your shoulder, then your daughter’s soft forehead. “You’ve made this home the safest, warmest place. You love so gently. So endlessly. It’s like watching sunshine wrap around her every time you pick her up.”

“I didn’t think I could love you more,” he added, “but then I saw you become her mother.”

The three of you spent the rest of the morning curled up in bed, your baby nestled between you, skin warm and soft against your chest, Jake’s hand resting gently over your hip. You talked in whispers, shared sleepy kisses, and soaked in every moment of that slow, golden morning.

Later, he gave you a small box with a delicate gold necklace inside—three tiny charms: a sun, a moon, and a star. “You’re her whole sky,” he murmured. “And mine.”

That evening, after a walk under blooming trees and dinner on the patio, Jake danced with you in the kitchen to a quiet song he’d written just for today. Your daughter slept nearby in her bassinet, the candlelight flickering gently across her face.

Jake whispered in your ear as you swayed. “You’re magic. And I’ll spend every Mother’s Day—and every day—reminding you just how loved you are.”

And in that moment, with your arms around him and the soft weight of your child’s love lingering in the air, you realized something:

This was the kind of love people wrote songs about.

And Jake would write every one of them just for you.

The sun began to dip low in the sky, painting everything in rose gold and honey. Your daughter stirred gently in your arms, blinking up at you with those deep, curious eyes that always made your heart ache in the best way. You kissed her forehead and glanced over at Jake, who was watching you both like he couldn’t believe he got this lucky.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, setting down the wooden spoon he’d been stirring pasta with. “But take your time. You look too perfect to move.”

You smiled sleepily, your heart swelling. The soft music playing in the background, the scent of garlic and basil in the air, the tiny rhythmic breaths of the baby on your chest—it all felt like a dream. A quiet, sacred little life you’d built together.

Jake came over, gently lifting your daughter from your arms so you could stand and stretch. He kissed her temple as she yawned and tucked her into the bassinet by the window. Then he turned back to you, pulling you into his arms, resting his chin on your head.

“I know she won’t remember this day,” he whispered, swaying slightly with you in the middle of the kitchen, “but I hope one day, when she’s older, she’ll feel it. The love. The peace. How much we adored her from the very beginning.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat and held him tighter.

After dinner—simple, perfect, and candlelit—you all curled up together on the couch. Jake held your daughter while you leaned into his side, your legs tangled up, his free hand brushing soft circles over your arm.

“Next year, she’ll be running around,” he said with a little laugh. “We’ll probably have pancake batter on the ceiling and flowers picked straight out of the neighbor’s yard.”

“And I’ll still be the luckiest girl in the world,” you whispered.

Jake kissed the crown of your head. “That’s funny,” he said. “Because I say that about you every single day.”

Eventually, when the stars came out and the house was wrapped in quiet, you carried your daughter to her crib together, swaying softly to the lullaby Jake hummed as he tucked her in. You stood there for a while, arms around each other, just watching her sleep.

Back in your room, Jake pulled you into bed and cradled you like you were just as precious as the baby you’d brought into the world. “Happy Mother’s Day, my love,” he murmured against your neck.

“You made it unforgettable,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes again. “I don’t have words for how full my heart feels.”

Jake reached under your pillow and pulled out one last surprise: a tiny photo book he’d been working on in secret, filled with pictures from your first months as a family. Candid snapshots, little notes he’d written beside each one, memories frozen in time. You flipped through it with trembling fingers, overwhelmed by the way he’d captured your journey so lovingly.

When you looked up, Jake was already watching you, his eyes soft and shiny. “I wanted to give you something to hold onto,” he said, brushing your cheek. “For the quiet moments. For all the nights you might forget how incredible you are.”

You kissed him deeply, tenderly. “This was the best day of my life.”

And when he pulled you close and whispered, “Mine too,” you believed him with everything you had.

Because some days don’t need fireworks or grand adventures.

Some days are made perfect by love, a baby’s breath, and the arms that feel like home.

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You first met Danny in the most unexpected way—at a tiny music festival tucked away in the woods of upstate New York. The weekend was a blur of wildflowers, vintage blankets, food trucks, and endless music. You were sipping lavender lemonade by the drum circle, tapping your fingers along with the rhythm, when he sat down next to you. Not many people knew who he was out there—just another guy in a flannel with a half-smile and twinkling brown eyes.

“You’ve got a good ear,” he said, nodding to your beat.

You blushed, not expecting to be noticed. “You’ve got a good… face,” you joked, instantly regretting it.

But he laughed. A real one. “Best compliment I’ve had all week.”

From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable that weekend. You danced barefoot on the grass under strings of fairy lights, stayed up till 2 a.m. talking about art and the universe, and even built a fire together when the temperature dipped low. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t grand. But it was something.

And when the festival ended, he didn’t disappear. Danny texted you before you even got home, and the messages didn’t stop. Soon it was FaceTimes and playlists and letters (yes, actual letters—Danny had a soft spot for old-school romance). You visited him on tour a few months later. Backstage, among road cases and setlists, he kissed you like you were the only sound in a world full of noise.

One night, in a quiet moment in his house back home, you sat together on the couch. He had just gotten out of the shower, hair damp and curling around his ears. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts. He picked up a pair of drumsticks, idly tapping a rhythm against your knee.

“What’s that?” you asked.

He looked shy for the first time in a while. “Something I made up. It’s called ‘Your Pulse.’”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Why that name?”

Danny glanced down at your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Because it matches yours. Every time I play it, it reminds me of how I feel around you—steady but racing at the same time.”

You didn’t say anything at first—just reached up to cup his cheek, letting your thumb graze the faint stubble on his jaw. And in that quiet, in that warmth, he leaned in and kissed you like he was afraid he’d never get to again.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t want noise if you’re not in it.”

That night, tangled in blankets and sleepy laughter, he pulled you close and whispered, “I’ve had a lot of rhythm in my life, but you’re the first melody.”

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of Danny’s car, winding through quiet Michigan roads. He reached over and laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a soft squeeze.

“You nervous?” he asked, glancing sideways at you with a reassuring smile.

“A little,” you admitted, laughing under your breath. “What if they hate me?”

Danny gave you that look—the one that always melted your nerves. “They won’t. You’ve already got the only vote that matters.”

You smiled, but the nerves still fluttered in your stomach. You’d been with Danny for a while now, but this felt like a turning point—meeting his family, stepping deeper into his world.

His childhood home was warm and inviting, tucked at the edge of a wooded lot. As soon as the front door opened, the scent of fresh bread and something roasting in the oven spilled out into the chilly air. His mom greeted you first, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she pulled you into a hug before you could even say hello.

“So this is the girl who has my son smiling at his phone like a lovesick teenager,” she said, laughing as she let go.

Danny groaned. “Mom, seriously?”

But you couldn’t stop smiling. And the second his dad stepped in with a firm handshake and a quiet, kind presence, your nerves started to melt.

Dinner was cozy and chaotic in the best way. His younger cousins popped in and out of the kitchen. His mom told embarrassing stories about Danny’s first drum set and how he used to bang on pots and pans with spoons. Danny blushed and kept shooting you looks from across the table, like he couldn’t believe you were really there.

Later, while his mom was cleaning up and his dad poured coffee for everyone, Danny led you to the back porch where fairy lights twinkled across the railing. He wrapped a blanket around both of you and kissed your temple.

“They love you,” he murmured. “Told you they would.”

You smiled and leaned into his chest, resting your head just beneath his chin.

“I think I love them too,” you whispered.

He paused, quiet for a moment, then pulled back just enough to look in your eyes.

“And me?” he asked, voice barely above the sound of the breeze.

“You,” you said without hesitation, “most of all.”

Danny kissed you like you were already part of the family.

A month after meeting his family, life started feeling even more beautifully tangled together—shared laundry, sleepy morning coffee, late-night voice memos when he was on the road. So when Danny had a rare free weekend, he surprised you.

“I’ve got a plan,” he said one Friday evening, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous spark you loved. “Pack a bag. Just warm clothes. No makeup. No planning.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, already grinning.

He just winked. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that’s ours.”

You drove for hours through winding back roads, the kind with towering trees and faded barns and deer wandering the shoulders. Eventually, you pulled up to a tiny cabin nestled by a frozen lake, smoke curling gently from the chimney. The air was cold and crisp, but the sight made your chest ache—in the best way.

Inside, everything was wooden and cozy. There was a stone fireplace, wool blankets, a battered record player, and shelves lined with old books and board games. Danny set your bags down and turned to you with a boyish grin.

“No shows. No crowds. Just me, you, and the sound of the wind in the trees.”

The first night was soft and slow. You lit candles, made grilled cheese and tomato soup, and danced barefoot in the living room to Fleetwood Mac on vinyl. He sang along quietly under his breath, his arms wrapped around your waist, swaying with you like the whole world had fallen away.

Later, curled up on the old leather couch with the fire crackling beside you, Danny brushed your hair behind your ear and whispered, “If I could stay in one place forever, I’d choose this moment.”

You leaned in and kissed him—slow, unhurried, like there was nothing else to do but feel.

The next morning, you woke up tangled in his arms beneath a mountain of quilts, your legs intertwined, his hand lazily tracing shapes against your spine. Outside, snow had started to fall, blanketing the lake in silence.

Danny made you pancakes from scratch while you sat on the counter in one of his hoodies, swinging your legs and laughing at how bad he was at flipping them. “You’re lucky I’m cute,” he said, licking syrup off his thumb.

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re more than cute. You’re everything.”

That night, he pulled you out onto the porch, where the snow still gently fell and the moon lit up the world in silver. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I think this place is my new favorite rhythm,” he whispered. “Because it beats with you.”

And in that quiet stillness, it felt like time stood still—just you and Danny, wrapped in snow and firelight and love, your own little world carved out from the noise.

The snow continued to fall outside, but inside the cabin, the fire crackled low and warm. You and Danny sat nestled together on the rug, wrapped in one of the thick wool blankets, a half-empty mug of hot cider beside you. The only light came from the fireplace, casting a golden glow over his face—the soft curve of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted as he looked at you.

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against your temple first, then your cheekbone, and finally your mouth—gentle at first, like he was still savoring the moment, then deeper, hungrier, as his hand slid along your thigh beneath the blanket.

You moved closer instinctively, your knees brushing his as you turned to straddle his lap. His hands found your hips, fingers splaying wide, grounding you as your bodies pressed together. You felt the tension rising between you in waves—warm, magnetic, inevitable.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice rough with want.

Your hands tangled in his curls, tugging gently as his mouth trailed down your neck, each kiss slower than the last, like he had nowhere else to be but right here. His fingers slid under your sweatshirt, exploring the warmth of your skin, the curve of your waist, the arch of your back. Every touch was reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You tugged your sweatshirt off, and he inhaled sharply as he looked at you in the firelight.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as if to remind himself this was real.

He laid you back gently on the rug, covering you with the blanket and himself in one fluid movement. His body pressed down against yours, hot and heavy, and you gasped as his hips rolled slowly into yours.

Clothes fell away in pieces between kisses and whispered promises. The cold outside only made the heat between you more intense—every brush of skin against skin, every breath shared, every sigh drawn from your lips like a song he knew by heart.

He moved inside you slowly, deeply, like he had all the time in the world to love you. And he did. His rhythm was patient, his lips never far from yours, his hands grounding you as you wrapped your legs around him and let yourself get lost in the fire, in him.

“I love you,” he whispered as your body arched beneath him, as you held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

And when you both finally unraveled—together, warm and breathless and wrapped in the sound of the fire—he kissed your forehead and pulled the blanket tighter around you.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. Inside, you lay tangled together, heartbeats still syncing in time.

Your Pulse, playing in silence.

The next morning came slowly, the way the best mornings do. Pale sunlight streamed through the cabin windows, catching on the tiny frost crystals that had formed at the corners of the glass. The fire had gone to embers, casting a dim orange glow across the room, but the heat still lingered beneath the thick blanket that wrapped around you both.

Danny stirred first, his arm draped over your waist, chest rising and falling against your back in a steady rhythm. You could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck, his hand splayed over your stomach, fingers twitching slightly in sleep.

You smiled softly and reached down to lace your fingers through his.

He hummed, voice low and scratchy with sleep. “Mmm… morning, beautiful.”

You turned in his arms to face him, cheeks flushed from the warmth and the closeness. His curls were messy, eyes heavy-lidded but glowing with that familiar tenderness he always saved just for you.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and lazy, like there was nothing else to rush toward.

“I had the best dream,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “But waking up to you is even better.”

You laughed softly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “What time is it?”

“I don’t care.” He pulled you closer, tucking you against his chest. “We’re not going anywhere today. We’ve got coffee, pancakes, and a fireplace. And I have you.”

You closed your eyes and melted into him, your bare legs tangled beneath the blanket, skin still warm from the night before. There was something sacred about the silence—the kind that only comes after love, when everything else falls away and only closeness remains.

Eventually, he kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Let me make you breakfast. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You watched him pull on his boxers and one of his old T-shirts, his hair wild, his smile boyish. He looked over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you more,” you whispered back.

And as the smell of coffee and butter filled the cabin again, and snow continued to fall gently outside, you wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket, your body still humming with the memory of him, and thought—this is what forever could feel like.

The cabin was completely still except for the soft crackling of the fire and the quiet clatter of Danny in the kitchen. You stayed wrapped in the thick blanket on the rug, letting the glow of the morning and the memories of the night before settle over you like a second skin.

Soon, Danny returned with a tray—two mugs of coffee, a stack of golden pancakes with syrup already melting down the sides, and a few slices of crispy bacon. He grinned proudly as he set it down.

“I remembered the cinnamon this time,” he said, sitting beside you.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Perfect boyfriend status unlocked.”

He nudged your shoulder playfully, and the two of you ate cross-legged on the floor, sharing bites, stealing kisses, laughing over how lopsided one of the pancakes was. The kind of morning that doesn’t beg to be photographed—just felt.

After breakfast, you pulled on one of his sweaters and thick socks, and Danny grabbed another blanket and pulled you into his lap by the window, where you both sat for a long time just watching the snow fall. He held you close, chin resting on your shoulder, tracing lazy circles on your thigh beneath the wool.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” you murmured.

He nodded, then looked at you with a gentle seriousness. “What if we didn’t… at least not all the way?”

You turned to face him.

“I mean it,” he said. “What if we found somewhere like this for real someday? Something simple. Quiet. Just us. You and me. Our own place.”

Your chest fluttered. “You want that?”

“I want everything with you.”

The day passed slowly, in the most beautiful way—reading on the couch with your feet in his lap, sneaking outside for snowball fights and falling down in the fresh powder, flushed and breathless with laughter. Later, you made hot cocoa, built the fire back up, and laid tangled on the couch under a quilt, your head resting against his chest.

He played with your fingers, then brought your hand to his lips. “This weekend… it’s going to live in my bones,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about this every time I’m far from you.”

You nodded, eyes stinging with that sweet kind of ache. “It already feels like home.”

That night, you made love again—slower, softer, no urgency, just pure devotion. You fell asleep in his arms once more, your body molded to his, the storm outside whispering against the windows like a lullaby.

And in the morning, when it was time to leave, you stood at the door together, looking back at the cabin like it was a sacred place. Danny kissed the side of your head and murmured, “Let’s come back every year.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

And with hands clasped and hearts full, you stepped out into the snow—carrying something between you that would never melt.

It happened on a quiet Tuesday evening.

You were curled up in Danny’s house, half-asleep under one of his worn flannel blankets, when he walked over and gently placed something cool in your palm.

A key.

You looked up, blinking slowly, your heart suddenly thudding in your chest.

He sat beside you, eyes soft and steady. “I don’t want to keep saying goodbye at your door. I want you here. Always. If you’re ready.”

You stared at the key, then at him.

“You mean… move in?”

Danny gave a quiet smile, brushing your hair from your face. “I already have a drawer full of your stuff. You leave your favorite hoodie here. You talk in your sleep and I miss it when you’re not beside me. Yeah. I want you to move in.”

Your throat tightened as emotion bloomed deep in your chest. “Are you sure? I’m messy. I talk to my plants. I hog the blankets.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want all of it. All of you.”

Moving in wasn’t glamorous. It was boxes and bubble wrap and way too many mugs between the two of you. You accidentally dropped your favorite lamp. Danny swore more than once trying to build the new bookshelf. But somehow, it felt like magic anyway.

He made space for you in every drawer, every corner, every morning routine. His closet smelled like you within days. You brought your favorite throw pillows; he grumbled, then admitted they were kind of perfect.

The first night sleeping there officially, you lay beside him in bed, the room dim and quiet. You stared at the ceiling, heart racing a little.

Danny rolled over, sliding his hand under your shirt and resting it over your heart. “You okay?”

You nodded, then shook your head. “It’s just… this is a big step.”

He kissed your bare shoulder, then your cheek, then your lips—slow, patient, grounding.

“We’re not rushing. We’re just growing,” he whispered. “And I’ve never felt more sure about anything.”

You exhaled. Let it sink in. The feeling of belonging. Of being wanted. Of being home.

In the weeks that followed, life took on a new rhythm. Shared coffees in the morning, toothbrushes side by side, movie nights tangled on the couch. He’d drum against the kitchen counter while you cooked, steal kisses when you passed each other in the hallway, leave you notes on the fridge when he left early.

And one night, while folding laundry, he looked at you across the room and said softly, “This… this is the kind of love I’ve always wanted.”

You walked to him, wrapped your arms around his waist, and whispered, “Me too.”

And in the little house, filled with warmth and music and the scent of incense and old vinyl sleeves, the two of you built a life that felt like a song only you could hear.

Of course—here’s the next chapter: a few months into living together, your first real fight. It’s raw, emotional, but filled with love and growth

It had been a long week.

Danny had been busy with rehearsals and late studio nights. You were drowning in deadlines, laundry piling up, dishes untouched in the sink. Everything felt heavy in that quiet, simmering way where even small things started to sting.

The fight didn’t start loud.

It started with something small—Danny forgetting to text that he’d be late again. You’d made dinner. Waited. Tried not to take it personally. But when he finally walked through the door, laughing at something on his phone, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I waited for you,” you said quietly.

He looked up, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dinner. I waited. You didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming.”

Danny sighed, tossing his keys on the counter. “I lost track of time. I was in the middle of a take.”

“That’s always the reason, isn’t it?”

That made him stop. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You swallowed hard, tears stinging, but your voice rose. “It means I’m starting to feel like I come second to your career. Like I’m just the thing waiting at home while you’re off chasing your dream.”

Danny’s jaw tensed. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe it’s not. But it’s how I feel.”

The silence that followed was sharp. He looked at you, hands clenched at his sides like he was holding something back.

“I’m trying,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know how much this matters to me. You knew what I did before we even got serious.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And I support you. But I need to matter in your day. I need to feel like I’m still seen.”

Danny ran a hand through his hair and looked away, his voice raw now. “You’re not just part of my day, you’re the only part that makes it feel real.”

Your throat caught. For a moment, neither of you moved.

The quiet after the fight wasn’t peaceful—it was heavy. Danny had moved to sit on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, pulse still racing.

Neither of you had said a word in minutes.

It wasn’t over. Not really. The apology had started, but the ache still sat between you both—hot, raw, and unresolved. You loved him. God, you loved him. But you didn’t know how to fit your needs into his world without feeling like a burden. And he—he didn’t know how to slow down without feeling like he was failing.

Your eyes finally met across the room. His were tired, glassy. Yours were guarded, but softening.

“I hate fighting with you,” you said, voice quiet, almost a whisper.

Danny stood, slowly, as if unsure if he should. “Then don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not trying to,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just… I get so scared that I’m asking for too much.”

He was in front of you now, close enough to touch, but not moving.

“You’re not,” he said hoarsely. “You’re asking to be chosen. I should’ve been better at showing you that you already are.”

And that was it.

That sentence—his voice, strained and honest—broke something open.

You grabbed his shirt first, fists twisting in the fabric as your mouth found his, desperate and angry and full of longing all at once. He groaned against you, hands flying to your hips, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough.

The kiss was messy. Hungry. Heated. You bit his bottom lip and he growled into your mouth, spinning you so your back hit the counter.

Clothes came off in sharp, hurried movements. His hoodie hitting the floor. Your shirt lifted over your head. Fingers fumbling with jeans and breath caught in the back of your throat.

“Danny—” you gasped as he kissed down your neck, his hands spreading across your bare waist like he was trying to remind himself you were real.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “I’m so here.”

He lifted you onto the counter and stepped between your legs, his mouth on your chest, your shoulder, your throat. His hands were everywhere—gripping, stroking, worshipping you like you were something holy and he’d been starving for days.

When he finally sank into you, you both gasped like you’d come home after being gone too long.

It wasn’t slow.

It was desperate.

It was the kind of connection that comes after words fail—when all that’s left is the thrum of bodies trying to speak for hearts.

You wrapped your legs around him, hips meeting his in rhythm, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked with yours, every thrust laced with something deeper than lust.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between gasps. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you breathed. “I know.”

You clung to him, your body arching as the heat between you both built and built, until—

You cried out his name, trembling against him, and he followed moments later, holding you tight, panting and shaking with the intensity of it all.

Afterward, he rested his forehead on your shoulder, both of you still catching your breath, still wrapped around each other.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did you.

You were both still angry, still aching—but now you were in it together. Closer. Honest. Real.

And maybe the healing would start right here—wrapped in each other, naked in more ways than one.

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The boat rocked gently against the dock, the day finally surrendering to a slow, amber sunset. You and Sam had spent every hour under the open sky — laughing, tangled together on sun-warmed cushions, fingers brushing, stealing kisses that tasted like salt and sunshine.

And now, as you pulled into the driveway, you could see it plain as day: Sam’s face was pink, the bridge of his nose just beginning to turn a deeper red, a tender warning of what was coming.

You both stumbled through the door, carrying the happy exhaustion of a day well-lived. Sam kicked off his sandals with a groan, running a hand through his sun-bleached waves.

“You’re burnt,” you said gently, stepping closer to him.

He grinned sheepishly, a little boy caught in the act. “I know. I can feel it. It’s…It’s bad, isn’t it?”

You reached up, brushing your fingertips lightly along his cheek, and he winced at even the softest touch.

“Stay here,” you whispered. “I’ll fix you.”

In the kitchen, you found the bottle of aloe vera gel tucked in the fridge — a trick you’d learned for days exactly like this. It was cool in your hands, like a little offering of comfort. When you returned, Sam was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, looking so open, so trusting, that your heart ached.

You knelt in front of him, balancing on your knees between his legs. You squeezed a small pool of gel into your hands, rubbing them together to warm it just slightly, then reached up.

“Close your eyes,” you whispered.

Sam obeyed without hesitation, a soft smile curving his lips. His lashes, thick and dark, fluttered against the tops of his cheeks.

You touched him carefully, spreading the aloe over his skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, tender and reverent, like you were memorizing the map of his face.

He let out a quiet sigh — not of pain, but of relief — and leaned into your touch instinctively. You smoothed the gel across the bridge of his nose, feathered it down to the corners of his mouth, his jaw, the soft hollow under his ears.

It wasn’t just about tending to him anymore.

It was something deeper.

A silent conversation passed between you in those moments. In the way Sam’s hands slid slowly up your thighs, resting lightly at your hips. In the way he tilted his head a little into your palms, like he never wanted you to stop touching him. In the way your breath caught when his thumb traced lazy circles against the small of your back.

“You’re always so good to me,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.

“You deserve it,” you whispered back, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sam opened his eyes then — those beautiful, molten eyes that always seemed to see straight through to your soul.

His hands moved from your waist to your face, mirroring the way you had touched him. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of you spoke.

“You take care of me like no one ever has,” he said, his forehead resting gently against yours now, his breath warm and soft between you.

“And I always will,” you promised, your voice cracking just slightly with the weight of it all.

His lips found yours then — a kiss so slow, so tender, it almost hurt.

There was no rush, no urgency.

Just the soft meeting of two people who had found something rare and precious.

You kissed him again and again, your fingers threading into his salt-slicked hair, his arms pulling you closer until you were pressed against him, heart to heart.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead stayed resting against his, both of you breathing in the same small, sacred space between you.

“Lay down,” you whispered against his lips.

He smiled, lazy and full of trust, and obeyed, sprawling back onto the couch.

You climbed up over him, straddling his hips gently, and grabbed the aloe again. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, utterly wrecked by the affection pouring from you.

You squeezed a little more gel into your palms, and this time you smoothed it carefully over his chest, his shoulders, the tops of his arms — every patch of skin that the sun had kissed a little too hard.

Your touch was soft, slow, worshipful.

You weren’t just soothing a sunburn.

You were loving him with your hands, telling him everything you couldn’t find the words for.

Sam closed his eyes again, his breathing deep and even, and you knew he felt it too — the unspoken promise that you would always be there, in the quiet ways that mattered most.

Not just in the big, loud, brilliant moments.

But in the simple ones too.

Rubbing aloe into sunburned cheeks after a perfect, ordinary day.

Choosing him again and again, in every small act of love.

The world outside faded into a hush of cicadas and twilight.

And there, in the soft golden glow of the living room, you and Sam stayed tangled up together, heartbeats slow and sure, the kind of love that needed no grand declarations.

Just the quiet certainty of this.

Us.

Always.

Sam shifted slightly beneath you, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back. You could feel how heavy the day was weighing on both of you — the sun, the boat rocking like a lullaby, the deep, aching tenderness of the moment now settling into something even softer.

You kissed the center of his chest, right over his heart, and rested your cheek there.

He hummed — a low, content sound vibrating against your skin — and tangled his legs with yours.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

Everything important had already been said in the way you touched each other.

The couch creaked a little as Sam shifted again, reaching blindly for the thin throw blanket draped over the back. His arms tightened around you, tugging the blanket over both of you, cocooning you in warmth that smelled like salt, sunscreen, and him.

His voice, when he spoke, was rough with sleep.

“You’re my home,” he whispered into your hair.

The words cracked something open inside you, too big and too tender to hold back.

You tilted your face up toward him. His eyes were barely open, heavy with exhaustion and trust, but when he saw you looking at him — really looking — he smiled in that way that made your entire world tilt a little.

That crooked, boyish, absolutely wrecked smile that he only gave you.

“You’re mine too,” you whispered back.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he caught it, deepening it just slightly — not a kiss meant to lead anywhere, just a kiss meant to say I’m here. I love you. I always will.

The room dimmed as the last of the sunset bled away, the world outside humming quietly with the sounds of summer night.

You nestled yourself against him, fitting perfectly into the curve of his body, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep with every passing minute.

Sam’s fingers found yours under the blanket, intertwining them lazily, like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you.

He brushed his lips against your forehead one last time, a barely-there whisper of a kiss.

“Sweet dreams, sunshine,” he murmured.

You smiled against his skin.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” you breathed back.

And just like that, you both drifted off, tangled up in each other, wrapped in the kind of quiet, everlasting peace that only true love can create.

The couch creaked softly under your shared weight, the blanket slipping a little as you shifted in your sleep, but neither of you stirred.

The night wrapped itself around you like a second blanket, holding you safe and still, as the moonlight poured in through the windows, catching on the edges of your joined hands.

Two hearts, one slow, endless rhythm.

Two souls, one safe harbor.

And in that little living room by the shore, the world outside faded into nothing but the steady, quiet sound of forever.

As the sun sets, casting long shadows over the garden, Sam suggests a little celebration for their hard work. “How about a picnic dinner right here?” he says, his eyes bright with excitement. Your daughter’s face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah! Can we eat outside?” You laugh, brushing dirt from your hands. “Of course. I’ll go get the blankets and some food.”

Sam catches your hand before you walk away, pulling you back just enough to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “Take your time,” he whispers, his eyes full of that familiar adoration. You smile back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before heading inside. A little while later, you come back with a basket of sandwiches, fruit, and a pitcher of homemade lemonade. Sam has spread out a large quilt on the grass, right near the flower beds. Your daughter is busy arranging some wildflowers she picked into a small bouquet.

As you settle down, Sam pours lemonade into mason jars, handing one to you and another to your daughter. The three of you clink glasses, your daughter giggling as Sam makes a dramatic toast. “To flowers, family, and the little things that make life beautiful,” he declares, winking at you. You can’t help but feel your heart swell. The way he looks at you, the way he always includes your daughter in every little moment—it’s pure love, the kind that roots itself deep and never lets go.

After dinner, your daughter curls up beside you, her eyelids growing heavy as Sam softly strums his guitar, humming a lullaby he made up just for her. The melody is soothing, weaving through the soft chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. When she finally falls asleep, Sam carefully scoops her up and carries her inside. You follow, your heart full, and tuck her into bed together. Once she’s settled, you both step out onto the porch, leaning against the railing as the stars begin to twinkle above. Sam wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Did you ever think life would be like this?” he asks softly, his voice almost reverent. You rest your head against his shoulder. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it,” you admit. “It’s like a dream.” He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. “If it’s a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up,” he murmurs.

The two of you stand there in comfortable silence, watching the garden sway gently in the breeze. The sunflowers nod their golden heads, the marigolds catching the soft glow of the porch light. It’s peaceful, beautiful—a life you built together, one day, one seed, one moment at a time.

As the night deepens, Sam pulls you closer, resting his chin on your head. “You know,” he muses, “gardens aren’t just for growing flowers. They’re for growing memories.” You smile, squeezing his hand. “We’ve planted plenty of those.” He chuckles, his fingers intertwined with yours. “And I can’t wait to see what else we’ll grow together.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss, under the endless sky—your own little world of love, rooted in the simple joys of life.

The nights grow warmer as the summer settles in, the garden thriving under all of your care. One evening in particular, as the sky turned a vibrant shade of orange and pink, which truly fascinated your daughter, you find Sam knelt by the tomato plants, carefully inspecting them your daughter right next to him, trying her best to imitate his concentration, her tiny fingers brushing the leaves, her tongue sticking out in concentration. “Daddy, why do some of them look like hearts?” She asked, pointing to a misshapen tomato. Sam’s smile grew, plucking the oddly shaped fruit holding it out to show her. “That just means they’re special, Dove,” He says, winking at you as you come closer. “Sometimes, when things grow, they don’t always look perfect. But that doesn’t mean they taste any different.” He smiled. You crouch down next to them, gently with your thumb. You lick your thumb gently and wipe your daughter's cheek. You brush some dirt from Sam’s cheek as well. “Like you always say, imperfections make life interesting,” you tease. He leans into your touch, flashing you a smile. “Exactly” As the three of you gather the harvest, your daughter insists on carrying the basket, even though it’s almost too heavy for her little arms. Sam walks beside her, his hand lightly steadying the handle. You can’t help but snap a couple pictures as they walk in front of you– your two favorite people, framed by the lush garden they’ve nurtured together. Once inside, you decide to make a fresh salad to go with dinner. Your daughter is in charge of washing the vegetables, her giggles echoing throughout your home as Sam playfully splashes bits of water at her. You’re chopping basil when Sam slides up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You know,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re pretty amazing at this whole life thing.” You laugh, leaning into him. “Right back at you.” 

Dinner is simple and delicious, your daughter proudly announcing that she helped grow the tomatoes, and you both applaud her gardening skills, making her beam with pride. After dinner, you all head out to the porch again. Fireflies flicker in the garden, little bursts of light weaving through the flowers. Your daughter chases them with gleeful squeals as Rose and Fox chase them with her, her laughs echoing in the dusk. Sam pulls you into his lap on the porch swing, his arms circling your waist as you both watch them. His chin rests on your shoulder, his fingers tracing light patterns on your arm. “I never thought life could feel this….full,” he murmurs, his voice soft and content.

You smile, resting your head against his. “It’s our little piece of heaven,” you reply. He hums in agreement, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “Sometimes I worry it’s too perfect, like it’s all a dream. But then, I see you two out here, making this garden come alive, and I know it’s real.” You turn to face him with tears in your eyes, you cup his cheek gently staring into his eyes. “It’s real, Sam. All of it. Because we made it together.” He kisses you then–slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second. When you pull back, your daughter is suddenly in front of you, proudly holding a firefly cupped in her tiny hands. 

“Look!!!!” She squealed quietly “It’s glowing!!” she whispers in awe, staring at it with big eyes. Sam carefully moves closer to her, his eyes twinkling, “That’s because it’s happy Dove. Just like us” You watch as she gently releases the little creature, its light dancing into the night sky. Sam pulls you close again, his eyes reflecting the fireflies flickering around the garden. And in the moment, surrounded by love, light, and the garden you’ve nurtured together, you know that this–right here–is where you’re meant to be.

The garden becomes a backdrop for your summer days–lazy afternoons spent chasing butterflies, evenings filled with laughter and stories under the stars with a nice fire. Your daughter is growing right alongside the plants, her little hands always busy helping Sam water the plants and check the herbs for new leaves. One evening, as the golden hour paints everything in a soft, warm glow, you notice Sam kneeling near the roses, carefully tying up a wayward branch. Your daughter is nearby, holding the twine and handing it to him when he gestures. You join them, crouching beside Sam. “What are you two up to?” Sam glances at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Our rose bush is getting a little too ambitious. We’re giving it a little support.”

Your daughter grins “Papa says it’s just like me–I grow too fast!!” Sam laughs, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “Exactly. You and this garden, sprouting like wildflowers.” Once the roses are secure, you all sit on the grass, admiring the patchwork of colors around you. Sam lies back, pulling your daughter onto his chest as she traces patterns in the sky with her finger singing a song she made up. You curl up beside them, your head resting on Sam’s shoulder as Rose and Fox run around the yard playing. “Did you know roses can symbolize different things?” Sam muses, running his fingers through your daughter's hair. “Red for love, yellow for friendship, pink for gratitude…”

“What about white?” She asks, pointing at the white roses blooming nearby. Sam thinks for a moment. “White can mean new beginnings. Kind of like how every day in the garden is a new chance to grow.” Your daughter giggles, reaching over to touch one of the soft petals. “Then we have all kinds of love here!!” You and Sam exchange a glance, your heart swelling at her words. He wraps an arm around your waist, his thumb tracing circles on your side. “Speaking of new beginnings,” Sam says suddenly, his tone thoughtful. He sits up, his gaze warm and intent. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we could expand our garden a bit.” You raise an eyebrow “More flowers?” He shakes his head, his eyes twinkling. “Not just flowers. I mean… our family.” You feel your breath catch, Sam chuckles. He brushes his fingers against your cheek gently “Maybe.. I just keep thinking.. How beautiful would it be to have more of…this. A little more of us. I love being a dad, and I love watching you both grow. I just… I guess I want to keep growing this love.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but smile as you cup his face. “You’re saying you want another little gardener running around?” 

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. I think we’d be pretty good at it.” Your daughter’s face lights up. “A baby?! I could help!” She squealed. You and Sam laugh, pulling her into a group hug, your hearts full and warm. As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows over the blossoming garden, you can’t help but think that Sam is right–love, like a garden, deserves to keep growing. And as you sit there, wrapped up in each other, you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll keep nurturing it together–just as you always have.

The days that follow are filled with quiet excitement, an unspoken understanding blooming between you and Sam like the roses you so carefully tend. Some nights, when your daughter is fast asleep and the house is silent except for the soft hum of crickets outside, you find yourselves talking in hushed voices about the future—about tiny clothes, late-night feedings, and the sweet, chaotic beauty of adding another little soul to your family.

One evening, after a particularly golden afternoon spent in the garden, Sam surprises you. You’re washing the dirt from your hands at the kitchen sink when you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his voice low and earnest.

“Let’s not wait,” he murmurs. “Let’s start trying… now.”

You turn in his arms, your heart fluttering. The look in his eyes—so full of love, devotion, and hope—steals your breath away. You nod, wordless, before he lifts you onto the counter, kissing you deeply, as if anchoring this promise between you.

That night feels different—more tender, more deliberate, wrapped in whispered promises and lingering touches. You fall asleep tangled together, the warm breeze drifting through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine from the garden.

Weeks pass in a hazy, sunlit blur. Your daughter continues to delight in the magic of summer: chasing butterflies, helping Sam build a small wooden bench beneath the old oak tree, painting rocks to place among the flower beds. You treasure each moment, each laugh, each sticky lemonade-sweet kiss from her sun-warmed cheeks.

And then one morning, you wake with a flutter in your stomach—an instinctive knowing that something is different. Hope blooms tentatively inside you as you sneak away to the bathroom. Minutes later, when you see the faintest pink lines appear, your breath catches. Tears spring to your eyes.

You walk outside, barefoot, heart pounding. Sam is on the porch, strumming his guitar lazily, your daughter dozing curled up beside him under a thin blanket. He looks up when he sees you, his expression immediately alert.

You don’t say a word—you just hold up the tiny test. His guitar slides from his lap as he rushes to you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around, careful not to be too loud and wake your daughter. He sets you down, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands trembling slightly.

“We did it,” he breathes. “We’re growing again.”

You both laugh and cry, holding each other close under the wide blue sky, the world around you spinning in soft, golden light.

That night, you tell your daughter in the garden, right where the first seeds of this dream were planted. Sam kneels down, pulling her close between you, and says, “Dove, you’re going to be a big sister.”

Her eyes grow round, her mouth forming a perfect “O” of wonder before she throws her arms around you both, shouting with joy. She insists on picking a bouquet of flowers—one for you, one for the baby growing in your belly.

And as you sit there together, in the fading light, fireflies beginning to dance through the garden once more, you realize: Love isn’t just growing here—it’s flourishing, wild and beautiful and unstoppable.

Just like your family.

The seasons turn slowly, like pages in a beloved storybook. Summer drifts into a golden autumn, and the garden shifts with it—sunflowers bowing their heavy heads, the leaves painting the trees in hues of amber and scarlet. Your daughter collects fallen leaves in a wicker basket, proudly declaring she’s “saving the prettiest ones for the baby.”

Your belly grows with each passing week, a living testament to the love nurtured in the soil of your home. Sam becomes even more protective, if that’s possible—always reaching for your hand when you walk uneven ground, always making sure your glass is full, your feet are up, your heart is light.

One particularly crisp afternoon, you decide it’s time to find out whether you’re growing a little boy or girl. You and Sam don’t want a big fuss, no elaborate reveal—just something simple, something meaningful, like everything else in your life.

You come up with a plan together: you’ll open the envelope from the doctor in the garden, your sacred little world of roots and beginnings.

You sit on the old wooden bench under the oak tree, wrapped in a cozy quilt, your daughter perched between you. Sam holds the envelope carefully, as if it’s a rare, delicate thing. His hand trembles slightly as he tears it open.

He reads silently first, his face breaking into a slow, breathtaking smile. Then he turns the paper toward you both, his voice catching a little as he says, “It’s a boy, Dove. We’re having a little boy.”

Your daughter gasps, her hands clapping over her mouth. “A baby brother!!” she squeals, bouncing up and down. Tears blur your vision as Sam pulls you into his arms, your daughter squished between you both, laughing.

In the distance, Rose and Fox bark happily, chasing each other around the garden, as if they too can feel the joy bursting from the very ground.

Later, you all plant a small white rosebush together, right by the porch steps—a symbol of new beginnings, and the love growing right alongside it.

The last weeks of your pregnancy are full of gentle rhythms: evenings by the fireplace with your daughter nestled into your side, her hand resting carefully on your belly to feel her brother’s tiny kicks; Sam singing softly to you both as he strums lullabies on his guitar.

One night, while your daughter sleeps upstairs, you and Sam sit together on the porch swing, a thick quilt draped over you both. The sky is a velvet sea of stars, and the garden is quiet, save for the whisper of the wind through the tall grasses.

Sam cradles your hand in both of his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ve been thinking about a name,” he says, his voice low, reverent. “Something that means strength. Something that means hope.”

You smile, your heart brimming over. “What did you have in mind?”

He hesitates, then leans in close, whispering it into your ear. And just like that, you know—it’s perfect.

You whisper it back to him, trying it out on your tongue, and it feels like magic, like it belongs to the night air and the dreams you’ve spun together.

When the time comes, it’s the middle of the night. The house is quiet, the world holding its breath. Sam drives you to the hospital, one hand steady on the wheel, the other never leaving yours. Your daughter stays with your neighbor, practically vibrating with excitement.

Labor is long, intense, but every moment is filled with Sam’s unwavering presence—his whispered encouragements, his forehead pressed to yours, his tears mingling with yours when at last, after hours of fierce love and effort, a small, fierce cry pierces the night.

They place your son on your chest, and Sam crumbles beside you, burying his face in your hair, his shoulders shaking with joy.

You hold your son close, marveling at the tiny weight of him, the incredible miracle of his existence.

When your daughter arrives later that morning, carrying a handmade card that says “Welcome Home Baby Brother!” in crayon, she clambers onto the hospital bed beside you, gazing at her brother in awe.

“He’s so little,” she whispers.

You nod, tears filling your eyes again. “He’s our little gardener-in-training.”

Sam wraps his arms around all three of you, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s our new beginning.”

And as you sit there, a new family of four, the world outside bright and full of promise, you know it with a certainty that runs deeper than anything you’ve ever felt:

This is your harvest. This is your dream made real. This is your forever.

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Jake had always loved pirates. He wasn’t just casually into them—he lived and breathed everything from buried treasure to sea shanties and pirate lore. So when his birthday was coming up, you knew exactly what you had to do.

You were going to give him the ultimate pirate-themed birthday… and a surprise trip he’d never see coming.

The day started normally—Jake woke up to the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting from the kitchen. You greeted him with a grin and a paper pirate hat on your head.

"Oh Captain my Captain" you said in your best singsong voice.

Jake laughed, still groggy. “Oh no. What have you done?”

You giggled and sat next to him “Happy Birthday Captain” You grinned

“Only what any good first mate would do,” you said, handing him a parchment-style scroll sealed with wax.

He raised an eyebrow, unrolling it carefully. It read:

Ahoy, Captain Jake!

Ye be summoned for a grand birthday quest.

Follow the map, find the clues, and claim yer treasure.

X marks the spot, but beware… adventure awaits.

Yer loyal first mate,

Me ♡

Jake looked at you with that crooked smile you loved. “You really made a treasure hunt?”

“Oh, this is just the beginning,” you said with a wink.

You handed him a satchel containing a faux leather-bound journal, a compass (plastic, but still cool), and the first clue. What followed was a mini scavenger hunt around your house—each clue leading to a different room where he’d find pirate-themed trinkets and tiny gifts. A bottle of rum-flavored root beer, a T-shirt that read “Talk Pirate To Me,” and a pair of socks with tiny pirate ships on them.

At the final clue, he opened a small treasure chest (which you had painstakingly painted gold) to find a rolled-up boarding pass. He stared at it for a second, then back at you.

“A cruise?” he said slowly, reading the details. “To the Keys?”

You grinned. “A pirate-themed weekend getaway. There's a ship tour, a treasure hunt, and even a pirate costume party. We leave tomorrow.”

Jake just stared, stunned. “You planned a pirate birthday vacation?”

“I did,” you said proudly. “Because you’re my favorite pirate, and every pirate deserves an epic birthday quest.”

Jake threw his arms around you, nearly knocking off your paper hat. “You’re unbelievable. This is the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day celebrating—Jake wore his new pirate shirt, you played sea shanties on a speaker, and you even made a “plank” in the living room he had to walk (which ended in a pillow pile, thankfully). That night, you cuddled up watching Pirates of the Caribbean, and he didn’t stop smiling once.

As he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in your arms, he mumbled, “Best. Birthday. Ever.”

And you knew the real adventure hadn’t even started yet.

The next morning came with a buzz of excitement in the air—and caffeine. Lots of caffeine. Jake packed his bag in record time, tossing in his pirate socks like they were essential survival gear. You’d already printed out your boarding passes and stashed the travel-sized sunscreen (because even pirates get sunburned).

As you drove to the marina, Jake was practically bouncing in his seat. “Do you think they’ll make us walk the plank if we’re late?” he asked, grinning.

“Only you, Captain. I’ll be sipping piña coladas and pretending I don’t know you,” you teased.

When you arrived, Jake’s jaw dropped. The cruise ship wasn’t just big—it was decked out in full pirate glory. Black flags with skulls fluttered in the breeze, and costumed crew members shouted “Ahoy!” as you boarded. The air smelled like saltwater and adventure.

You checked into your cabin (with a porthole view, obviously), and inside was a little surprise waiting: two pirate costumes laid out on the bed. You’d rented them weeks ago. Jake’s had a long coat, a sash, and even a fake sword. Yours was sleek and dramatic, with a wide-brimmed hat and knee-high boots.

He turned to you, eyes wide. “You thought of everything.”

You smiled, tossing him his hat. “Ready for your birthday weekend, Captain?”

He saluted. “Aye, First Mate. Let’s plunder some buffet tables.”

The cruise kicked off with a themed welcome party. People were already in costume, drinking out of tiki mugs shaped like skulls. There was a live band playing sea shanties, and Jake somehow knew every word to “Drunken Sailor.” You danced, laughed, and even joined a limbo contest (Jake lost spectacularly, blaming it on “peg-leg energy”).

But the highlight of the night came when the cruise director announced the Treasure Hunt Challenge—a ship-wide puzzle-solving race with a prize for the winning team.

Jake turned to you, eyes sparkling. “We have to win this.”

You smirked. “We will win this.”

The next day was pure magic. The two of you ran around the ship, collecting clues hidden in barrels, behind lifeboats, and inside the ship’s pirate museum. You solved riddles, talked to actors dressed as ghost pirates, and found yourselves crawling under tables more than once. It was silly, chaotic, and honestly kind of romantic.

By sunset, you stood on the top deck, holding hands as the last clue led you to a hidden chest near the bow. You cracked the lock with the final code.

Inside was a tiny golden trophy that said “Ultimate Pirates,” and two free spa passes.

Jake held it like it was real treasure. “We did it,” he said with a grin. “I mean, of course we did.”

That night, you watched the stars from the ship’s balcony, wrapped in a blanket, sipping rum-spiked hot cocoa. Jake looked over at you, quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he said, brushing hair from your face, “I’ve always loved pirates. But this… this made me love us even more.”

Your heart melted. “Happy birthday, Captain,” you whispered.

He leaned in, forehead against yours. “Best crew, best first mate, best birthday of my life.”

And somewhere, far below the waves, even the sea seemed to smile.

The final day of the cruise dawned with sunlight streaming through the porthole, painting golden stripes across the sheets. Jake stirred beside you, hair tousled and arms still wrapped around you like the world outside didn’t exist. You brushed your fingers down his back gently, not wanting to break the spell too soon.

“Morning, Captain,” you murmured, voice sleepy-soft.

He groaned dramatically. “Tell me it’s not almost over…”

You kissed his shoulder. “Not quite. There’s still one more surprise.”

That got his attention. He sat up, eyes narrowed with suspicion and delight. “Another one? You’re relentless.”

“You love it,” you teased, slipping out of bed to grab a small envelope you’d stashed in your bag. “One last quest.”

He took it, examining the wax seal stamped with a tiny anchor. “You really committed to this pirate thing, huh?”

“I had to keep up with you.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out a photo—an old map printed on the back of a polaroid you’d taken the night before, smiling in front of the trophy chest. Below it, written in your handwriting:

One final treasure for the Captain. Follow the map. Bring the compass. Trust your First Mate.

Jake stared at it for a beat. “Okay. I’m officially obsessed with you.”

You just winked. “Then let’s get dressed.”

After breakfast, you led him off the ship and onto the island port the cruise had docked at—an actual pirate-themed resort built into the cliffs. Hidden coves, hammocks strung between palms, fire pits and stone pathways… it felt like something out of Treasure Island. You followed the little trail you’d mapped out days ago when you booked everything, compass in hand for the theatrics, until you reached a tiny private beach at the edge of the resort.

Waiting in the sand was a weathered wooden trunk—yes, a real one—half-buried beneath driftwood and shells. Jake looked from you to it in stunned silence.

“You didn’t,” he breathed.

“I did.”

He dropped to his knees and opened the trunk, hands shaking with laughter and disbelief. Inside, nestled on top of sea glass and old parchment pages, was a leather-bound photo album titled Captain & First Mate: The Voyage So Far. The first page was your favorite picture of you two from your very first vacation. From there, it chronicled everything—snapshots, ticket stubs, scribbled notes, concert wristbands, polaroids taped in haphazardly but full of joy.

Jake stared at the pages like he was looking at buried treasure. And then he turned to you, glassy-eyed.

“This is everything,” he whispered. “You are everything.”

You sat beside him, pressing your forehead to his. “I wanted you to remember that no matter where we sail, I’ll always be your First Mate.”

He cupped your face, kissed you soft and slow, and said, “Marry me.”

You blinked, breath caught.

“I mean it,” he said, the kind of steady sincerity that made your whole body go still. “Not because of the cruise. Not because of the treasure hunt. But because I don’t ever want another birthday, another adventure, another anything, without you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Jake—”

“I didn’t get a ring yet,” he added, half-laughing now. “I thought I was being the romantic one with the socks and sword. But... I’ll get one. I just— I can’t wait another second to tell you I want forever.”

You didn’t need to think. You just kissed him again, laughing into his mouth. “Yes, Jake. A million times yes.”

Far in the distance, the ship’s bell rang out—like the sea itself was cheering.

And under the sun, in the sand, wrapped in each other’s arms, the adventure truly began.

That night, after a celebratory dinner under the stars and one too many glasses of rum punch, you and Jake wandered back to your bungalow on the beach. The moon was high, casting silver light over the water, and the sound of waves rolling gently onto shore filled the air like a lullaby.

Jake kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the fake sword he’d insisted on wearing to dinner. You were laughing, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and from everything else—the proposal, the treasure, the sheer magic of the day.

But when he turned to you, the laughter softened. His eyes were darker now, heavier with something slower, deeper.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, stepping closer.

“Oh, I think I might,” you said coyly, resting your hands on his chest, feeling the quick thump of his heart through his open button-down.

He slid his fingers down your arms, gentle but firm, until they laced with yours. “You planned every second of this day to make me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

“You are the luckiest man alive,” you teased, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

He kissed you back—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. Then his hands found your waist, and he walked you backward until your legs hit the bed. The soft thud of the mattress was followed by the rustle of fabric as he pulled your shirt over your head.

Jake’s mouth traveled to your neck, then lower, peppering your skin with kisses while his hands explored like a map he knew by heart but would never get tired of tracing. You arched into him, your breath catching as he whispered something in your ear in that deep, gravelly voice only you got to hear like this.

“Mine,” he said. “My first mate. My everything.”

You tugged at his belt, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your collarbone. His clothes joined yours on the floor, piece by piece, until there was nothing between you but heat and want.

He laid you back gently, worshipfully, like you were the treasure he’d spent all day searching for. His touch was both reverent and hungry—trailing down your body with soft, wet kisses and slow, purposeful fingers. You gasped, hips lifting to meet him, heart pounding as he looked up at you with that crooked smile and pure adoration in his eyes.

“Let me make this the best night of your life too,” he whispered.

And he did.

With the ocean murmuring just outside and the stars watching overhead, Jake moved with you in a rhythm that was all your own—slow and deep, every motion soaked in love and tension and the thrill of knowing you’d just promised forever.

You reached the edge together, breathless and tangled in sheets and each other, skin slick with sweat and kissed pink from hours of touch. He held you tightly afterward, your head tucked under his chin, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

“You know,” he whispered, lips brushing your forehead, “I thought today couldn’t get better. But this? This was the real treasure.”

You smiled sleepily against his skin, utterly full—in every way. “Happy birthday, Captain.”

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Josh Kiszka always claimed he didn’t care about birthdays. “Another trip around the sun,” he’d shrug with a soft smile, usually vanishing into the woods or a book of poetry for the day. But you knew better. You knew he loved being seen—really seen. So, this year, you planned a birthday he’d never forget.

It started like any other day. You let him sleep in, the morning light creeping slowly across the sheets. You curled beside him, heart pounding in anticipation, until he stirred with a soft hum. His curls were wild, cheek pressed to the pillow, and his voice was raspy when he greeted you.

“Mm… morning, love.”

“Happy solar return,” you whispered, placing a kiss on his nose.

He smiled sleepily. “Thank you, stardust.”

And that’s when it began.

“Get dressed. Something comfy. No questions.”

He blinked but obeyed, still too dreamy-eyed to argue. You packed the bag—already prepped and hidden in the closet—while he showered. A passport tucked into your bag, handwritten itinerary, crystals he always traveled with, and the little book of poems he’d been reading for weeks.

You drove him to the airport with his favorite album playing low, fingers entwined over the console. He didn’t realize what was happening until you handed him his boarding pass.

“Greece?” His eyes widened. “You’re taking me to Greece?”

You nodded, grinning like a fool. “For the sun. For the history. For you.”

Josh was speechless for once, blinking as he tried to process it. “You planned all this?”

“Months ago. Happy birthday, my love.”

The flight was filled with quiet cuddles, shared headphone moments, and Josh tracing invisible shapes on your thigh while staring out at the clouds. When you landed, the Mediterranean air kissed your skin like a warm welcome. Your first stop was a hidden villa overlooking the sea—terracotta tiles, bougainvillea-draped balconies, and a private view of the stars.

Later that night, you brought him out onto the balcony. A little dinner table set just for the two of you, candles flickering in the breeze, and a cake you had specially made waiting inside.

He looked at you, eyes glassy with emotion. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

You cupped his face gently. “You deserve the whole world, Josh.”

He kissed you then—slow, reverent, like a thank-you prayer. The stars above glittered, and the ocean hummed below, but Josh only saw you.

The rest of the week was a dream: exploring ruins, barefoot walks through markets, naps in hammocks, long philosophical talks under the stars. And every night, he’d whisper, “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

And it was. Because it was made of love, of thought, of magic—and you.

On the second morning in Greece, Josh woke before you, something that rarely happened. You stirred when you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his breath warm against your shoulder as he whispered, “I’ve been watching the sunrise… but you’re still the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

You rolled over and tucked yourself into his chest, grinning sleepily. “You’re only saying that because I took you to your dream country.”

He chuckled, brushing his fingers gently down your spine. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m saying it because it’s true.”

That day, you surprised him again—this time with a private tour of a hidden coastal monastery nestled in the cliffs. The guide led you through stone corridors and candlelit chapels while Josh listened with quiet reverence, soaking in the history, asking thoughtful questions, his hand never leaving yours.

In the courtyard, the guide handed him a sprig of fresh basil for good luck and whispered, “For poets and lovers.” Josh smiled and passed it to you.

You spent the afternoon on a small sailboat—just the two of you, a picnic, and the captain who seemed to sense the quiet intimacy between you and gave you space. Josh leaned against the railing, wind tossing his curls as he looked out across the Aegean, completely at peace.

“You know,” he said, “I always thought I was happiest onstage. But right now… I think this might be the top.”

Later that night, back at the villa, you surprised him one last time with the birthday cake you’d managed to have flown in from his favorite vegan bakery in the States. He laughed in disbelief, eyes wide as he saw it sitting on the table, surrounded by little solar-themed decorations—tiny sun candles, golden confetti, and a hand-painted card you made with watercolors and lyrics from one of his unreleased songs.

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” he asked, voice cracking slightly.

You nodded. “Because I know you. And I love you. And I wanted you to feel how much.”

Josh pulled you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he kissed you—slow, deep, and full of every unspoken word. The candles flickered beside you, casting soft shadows on the walls, and time seemed to pause in that perfect golden moment.

“I’ll never forget this,” he murmured into your hair. “Not one second of it.”

You leaned your forehead to his, smiling. “Then we did it right.”

And the stars outside shimmered in approval, because on that birthday, under the Grecian sky, love had truly become a living, breathing thing.

Later that night, after the last crumbs of cake were gone and the candles had melted down to tiny glowing pools, you led Josh into the bedroom with nothing but the flicker of moonlight guiding your way. The sea sang softly outside, wind rustling the gauzy curtains, but the world inside those walls had grown impossibly still.

He looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen—eyes dark with wonder, lips slightly parted, body already humming with want. You slipped your dress off slowly, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, letting him watch as the fabric slid down your body and pooled at your feet.

“God, come here,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

You straddled him as he sat on the edge of the bed, your knees framing his thighs, your bare skin pressing to his through the loose linen pants he still wore. His hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him, his mouth crashing into yours with that mix of reverence and hunger only he could do.

His kisses were slow at first, his tongue dancing with yours as he explored your mouth like he hadn’t done it a hundred times before. He moved to your neck, sucking a mark just below your jaw, his fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and the softness of your thighs.

“You planned the most beautiful day for me,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm and trembling. “Let me worship you for it.”

You felt him hard beneath you, the press of him growing more urgent as you rolled your hips slowly, teasing both of you. He groaned deep in his throat, tilting his head back as you rocked against him. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

You reached down, slipping your hand between your bodies to free him from his pants. He hissed through his teeth as your fingers wrapped around him, slow and teasing. You lined him up and sank down onto him in one slow, fluid motion, both of you gasping at the overwhelming heat and stretch.

Josh grabbed your hips tighter, his head falling forward against your chest as he whispered your name like a prayer. You moved together, your rhythm lazy and sensual, taking your time like there was nowhere else in the world you had to be.

“Look at me,” he murmured, lifting his head. His eyes met yours, wide and glassy and full of emotion. “I want to watch you fall apart.”

You started riding him a little harder then, your moans echoing softly through the room, each thrust deeper, slower, perfectly timed to drive you both toward that edge. Josh kept whispering—sweet things, filthy things, things he only said when he was too overwhelmed to hold them back.

“I’m so in love with you.”

“You’re everything.”

“I’m gonna come with you, baby. Just like that.”

And when your climax took you, it did so in waves—your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell. He followed right after, pulling you down tight against him as he spilled inside you with a loud, guttural moan, hips stuttering, hands cradling the back of your head like you were fragile and sacred.

You collapsed into him, still joined, your breaths mingling, bodies slick and warm under the weight of love and moonlight.

“Best birthday ever,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head.

You smiled into his chest. “It’s not over yet. We still have all night.”

And he made sure to savor every second of it.

Josh didn’t let go of you for a long time. His arms wrapped around your back, his hands moving in slow, tender circles against your spine. Your head rested on his shoulder, legs tangled with his, skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of what you’d just shared. The air was thick with the scent of salt, sex, and candle wax. Intimate. Sacred.

Eventually, he shifted beneath you, brushing your hair from your face as he looked at you with that dreamy, love-drenched expression that only came out when the world around him faded completely away.

“I could die right now and be happy,” he murmured.

You laughed softly. “Don’t say that. We have a whole week of sunrises and ruins and lazy mornings like this.”

He kissed your cheek, then your collarbone. “I know. I just mean… if time stopped right here, I’d be content. This moment is everything.”

You leaned in and kissed him again—slow, warm, your lips parting just enough to taste the soft hum in his breath. It didn’t take long for things to stir again between you. His hand slid down to your hip, fingers flexing gently as he tilted his head and kissed you deeper.

“Again?” you whispered against his lips.

He nodded, barely audible. “Always.”

Josh laid you down this time, kissing every inch of skin he could reach, from the hollow of your throat to the soft inside of your thighs. His hands were everywhere—exploring, caressing, grounding you. He moved with a quiet intensity, like he needed to feel you with every part of him to believe this was real.

He kissed the swell of your stomach, then looked up at you with a quiet grin. “You’re my favorite place to be.”

This time, when he entered you, it was even slower—almost unbearable in its sweetness. He stayed deep, his forehead resting against yours, the only sounds between you the soft rhythm of your breath and the occasional gasp as he angled his hips just right.

You whispered to each other through it all—confessions, promises, quiet gasps of each other’s names.

“I love you,” you said, over and over.

And Josh whispered it back each time, like it was the most sacred word he’d ever known.

When you came again, it wasn’t loud—it was soft, shuddering, wrapped in the safety of his embrace. He followed you seconds later, burying his face in your neck, his whole body trembling as he spilled inside you a second time.

You laid like that afterward, wrapped in sheets and moonlight, his hand resting protectively over your belly, your fingers brushing through the mess of his curls.

“You made me feel like the most important man on Earth today,” he murmured.

“You are,” you said simply.

And just before sleep claimed you both, Josh whispered into the stillness of the night:

“When we get back home, I want to talk about forever.”

if you would like to be added to the tag list please feel free to ask!❤️

The reception was everything you’d imagined—intimate, filled with laughter, and wrapped in the golden glow of the setting sun. Friends and family toasted your love, sharing stories about how they always knew you and Josh were meant to be. Josh couldn’t stop smiling, his hand never leaving yours as you moved from guest to guest, soaking in the joy around you.

When the music started, Josh pulled you to the center of the makeshift dance floor. The first chords of your song played, and you melted into his arms. The world faded away as you swayed together, lost in each other. Josh leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice soft and full of affection.

“Do you remember our very first dance?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, recalling that spontaneous trip to the parking garage rooftop at midnight, the way he’d dipped you too low and almost dropped you, then tripped and almost sent you both over the edge, both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

“I do,” you whispered back. “You almost killed me.”

Josh chuckled, spinning you effortlessly now, his movements graceful and sure. “Worth it. I’d risk it again just to hear you laugh like that.”

The night stretched on, filled with more dances, more laughter, and so much love that it felt like the universe was celebrating with you. At one point, you snuck away from the crowd, pulling Josh by the hand toward the field where wildflowers swayed in the breeze.

Under the starlit sky, he pulled you close, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’re my forever,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe I get to love you for the rest of my life.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, your heart so full it felt like it could burst. As you pulled away, you saw the glint of a tear in his eye, and you knew that this—this moment under the stars with Josh—was the happiest you’d ever been.

Years passed, but that feeling never faded. Life with Josh was a collection of beautiful, messy, wonderful moments—spontaneous trips to the coast, lazy Sundays spent painting the house, and quiet evenings curled up together, his guitar softly playing as you hummed along.

One summer evening, years after that wedding night, you found yourselves back at the same field. Your little boy, with Josh’s wild curls and your curious eyes, chased fireflies in the twilight while you leaned against Josh, his arm wrapped around you.

“Think he’ll grow up to be a poet too?” you mused, watching your son giggle as he tried to catch a flickering light.

Josh kissed your temple, his voice filled with a quiet pride. “If he’s anything like his mom, he’ll have stories to tell the world.”

You smiled, knowing that your story—the one you and Josh had been writing since that first chance encounter—was still unfolding, each chapter richer and more beautiful than the last.

And as the fireflies danced around you, and your son’s laughter filled the air, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, love stories like yours really did last forever.

The years wove together seamlessly, days spilling into one another like watercolors blending on a canvas. Life was never static with Josh—it was vibrant, unpredictable, and beautifully imperfect.

You and Josh built a life rooted in love and spontaneity. Your house became a home filled with music, laughter, and the scent of freshly baked cookies on Sunday mornings. Your son, Ethan, inherited Josh’s adventurous spirit. He was always exploring, collecting stones from the creek in the backyard, or building forts out of blankets and pillows, declaring them “safe zones” from the imaginary monsters lurking in the hallway.

Josh, ever the dreamer, taught Ethan how to play the guitar before he could even tie his shoes. Some evenings, you’d catch them on the porch, Ethan’s small hands clumsily strumming while Josh guided him, their voices blending into soft harmonies that made your heart ache with happiness.

One evening, after a day spent hiking up to the old lookout point—one of Josh’s favorite spots—you sat around a small campfire, the stars winking through the canopy of trees. Ethan had fallen asleep, curled up in Josh’s jacket, his tiny snores blending with the crackle of the fire.

Josh looked at you from across the flickering light, his eyes reflecting the flames. “You know, I never thought I’d get this lucky,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours.

You smiled, scooting closer to lean against his shoulder. “I think the universe knew what it was doing,” you replied.

Josh chuckled. “Yeah? You think the universe planned for me to spill coffee on you that day?”

You nudged him playfully. “Maybe it was fate’s way of making sure I noticed you. You did ruin my favorite sweater.”

He kissed your forehead. “Worth it,” he whispered.

The days grew fuller as Ethan grew older. He started school, his backpack almost bigger than him, and came home with stories of playground adventures and new friends. Josh coached his little league team, more of a cheerleader than a strategist, and Ethan always looked for you in the stands, grinning when you waved.

Sometimes, after Ethan was tucked in bed, Josh would pull you into a slow dance in the living room, his hands steady on your waist. No music played, just the sound of your breaths mingling, and in those quiet moments, it felt like nothing had changed since that first dance in the kitchen all those years ago.

One rainy afternoon, while sorting through old boxes in the attic, you found the notebook where Josh had scribbled poems and lyrics during those early days together. The pages were worn, the ink slightly faded, but the words still held that same raw, aching beauty.

You flipped to a page marked with a faded Polaroid—a picture of you two from one of those spontaneous road trips, windblown and laughing. Below it, in Josh’s messy scrawl, was a line that made your throat tighten with emotion:

“If love is a story, then ours is my favorite chapter.”

You brought the notebook downstairs, finding Josh fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen, his hair tied back in a messy knot. You couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he moved through life, how he made even mundane tasks feel like poetry.

“Hey,” you called, holding up the notebook. “Remember this?”

He wiped his hands on a towel, taking the book and flipping through the pages with a fond smile. “Man, I was such a sap back then,” he teased.

“You still are,” you replied, leaning into his side.

He wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can you blame me? Look who I ended up with.”

Life continued to ebb and flow, filled with school recitals, family game nights, and long weekends spent exploring new places. Sometimes, on quiet nights, Josh would sit on the porch with his guitar, playing softly while you leaned against his shoulder, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

Years later, on your anniversary, Ethan—now almost as tall as Josh—presented you with a song he had written. The melody was soft, the lyrics capturing the essence of how he saw your love—a love that was never just between you and Josh but wrapped around your family, binding you together.

As Ethan strummed the final chord, Josh pulled you close, his hand resting over your heart. “See? Told you we’d write the best story,” he whispered.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and gold, you knew that your story was far from over. It would continue, page after page, song after song, for as long as the universe allowed. Because with Josh, love was never just a feeling—it was a life, a journey, a song that played on and on, beautiful and unending.

a/n: if you’d like to be added to the tag list please feel free to ask!! I’d love to add you!!🥰

The first time you met Josh, it was pure chaos wrapped in serendipity. You were late for work, weaving through the crowded city streets, when fate made its move. One wrong step, one hurried turn, and suddenly your coffee was cascading through the air, landing squarely on the shirt of a stranger—a stranger with wild curls, an apologetic grin, and eyes that seemed to laugh at the world. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, panic flashing across your face as you scrambled to grab napkins from your bag. He looked down at the stain, then back at you, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “Hey, it’s just coffee. Could’ve been worse—at least it’s not hot sauce.” You let out a nervous laugh, still dabbing at the stain. “I really didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, holding up a hand. “Seriously, it’s fine. I think I owe the shirt a break anyway—it’s seen better days.” He chuckled, and the sound was warm, like sunlight cutting through a cloudy morning. You half expected him to be annoyed, but instead, he smiled—a warm, crooked smile that made the world feel softer around the edges. “Let me at least buy you a new coffee,” he offered, eyes glinting with something playful. “No, I should be the one—” He shook his head, cutting you off again. “Nope. My shirt’s a lost cause, but your coffee isn’t. Come on, I know a place. Best lattes in the city, I promise.” Somehow, you found yourself seated in a tiny, tucked-away café, talking to this magnetic soul who spoke in stories and hummed under his breath.

“So, you’re a professional coffee spiller?” he teased as you sipped your drink, a hint of mischief in his tone. You groaned. “It’s actually a hobby of mine. Just, you know, marking people I might want to know better.” He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I’d say you’ve got great taste in victims.” What you didn’t know then was that this fleeting moment—the chance encounter with a stranger who looked at you like he already knew you—would be the beginning of everything. That morning, you were just two people caught up in the rush of life, but there was something different about him. A spark. An electricity in the air that made you wonder if perhaps the universe had carefully orchestrated that spilled coffee just to bring you to him.

You walked away that day feeling oddly light, like a piece of yourself had been shaken awake. You didn’t exchange numbers, didn’t make plans to meet again. But you couldn’t forget the way he looked at you—the way he said your name as if he was tasting something sweet. A week passed, and just when you convinced yourself that it was just a random, insignificant moment, you saw him again. Same café. Same table. This time, he was strumming a guitar, lost in a melody that seemed to float out the open windows. When he looked up and saw you, his eyes lit up like he’d been waiting all along. “Hey, it’s my favorite coffee criminal,” he greeted, setting the guitar aside. You grinned. “Still wearing coffee-proof shirts, I see.” He patted his chest. “I came prepared. Figured I might run into trouble again.”

From that point on, everything was different. Josh didn’t just walk into your life—he danced, twirled, and spun his way through it, pulling you along on spontaneous road trips, midnight adventures, and quiet nights under the stars. He made you laugh harder than you’d ever laughed, made you feel more seen than you thought possible.

Loving Josh wasn’t a choice—it was an inevitability, like gravity or the pull of the tide. It was poetry wrapped in chaos, a love story that didn’t fit neatly into chapters but spilled out like music from an open window. You didn’t know it then, but that spilled coffee was the first line of your story. A story of two souls that collided and chose to stay tangled together, no matter how unpredictable life became. Because in a world full of uncertainties, one thing remained constant: you and Josh were always meant to find each other, in every life, under every sky, and through every song. And so it began—an imperfect, beautiful, endless love story that was never just a moment but a lifetime in the making. 

The rhythm of your life shifted after that night. You started spending more time with Josh—not because you planned it, but because it just happened. Texts turned into late-night phone calls, and quick coffee breaks stretched into entire afternoons spent wandering the city. One Saturday, he showed up at your door, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something. “What’s with the look?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. He held up a paper bag triumphantly. “Picnic. You, me, and the worst sandwiches in the world. You in?” You couldn’t help but laugh. “How can you already know they’re terrible?” “I made them. So, you know... probability’s not in our favor.” You rolled your eyes but grabbed your jacket anyway. “Lead the way, chef.” The park was alive with families, joggers, and artists sketching the spring blossoms. You found a quiet spot under a sprawling oak tree, spreading out the mismatched blankets Josh had crammed into his backpack.

As you bit into your sandwich—a questionable combination of peanut butter, pickles, and something that tasted suspiciously like jam—you tried not to make a face. Josh caught your reaction and laughed. “Yeah, okay, maybe I was aiming for ‘unique’ and hit ‘horrifying’ instead.” “Bold choice,” you said, trying to chew without wincing. “You really committed.” He picked a piece of bread apart thoughtfully. “That’s kind of my thing. I don’t half-ass much. Even terrible sandwiches.” You leaned back on your elbows, watching him squint up at the sky. “You’re kind of weird, you know that?” He turned his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “You like it, though.” He teased. “Maybe,” you admitted, nudging his foot with yours.

For a while, you just sat in comfortable silence, the city’s noise blending with the soft rustle of leaves. Josh started to hum, low and unassuming, and it melted into the atmosphere around you. “Sing for me?” you asked before you could second-guess it. He hesitated, but then he nodded, pulling his guitar from its case. After a few experimental strums, he began to play, his voice soft and rough around the edges. The song wasn’t anything you recognized—just a melody that seemed to unfold on the spot, improvised and real.

His voice wrapped around the words like he was singing them just for you: “I didn’t know I was looking Until I found you by mistake Coffee stains on a stranger’s shirt And a smile I couldn’t shake…”

You felt your chest tighten, the sincerity in his voice like a gentle ache. When he finished, he looked up, cheeks a little flushed. “Made that up on the spot,” he confessed. “Not great, but—” You cut him off. “No, It’s perfect,” you whispered. His eyes softened, and he set the guitar aside, leaning back beside you. “I meant it, you know. Meeting you—it was like something finally made sense.” You turned your head to find his gaze fixed on you, unguarded and open. “I didn’t think you were real at first,” you admitted. “People aren’t usually like you.” He smirked. “What, charmingly chaotic?” You laughed. “Something like that. But also... I don’t know. You make me feel like it’s okay to just... be.” He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You don’t have to try so hard around me. Just be you. That’s the best part…my favorite part.”

Your breath caught as his fingers lingered, tracing your cheekbone. “I’m usually pretty good at keeping my guard up,” you whispered. “Yeah, I noticed,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your jawline. “But I kind of like seeing you like this—unguarded. Real.” The space between you felt electric, like the air itself was holding its breath. You didn’t realize you’d moved closer until his forehead was pressed to yours, his hand cupping your face. “You’re trouble,” you whispered, your lips just a breath away from his. He grinned, that wild, reckless grin you were starting to love. “Yeah, but the good kind, right?” Before you could respond, he closed the gap, his lips soft and warm against yours. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he deepened it, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, anchoring you to the moment. When you finally broke apart, both a little breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “So... think you’ll keep me around a little longer?” You couldn’t help but smile and giggle. “Yeah. I think I might.” And just like that, the world felt a little more in focus—like the chaos made sense when it was with him. As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you leaned back against Josh’s shoulder, content to let time slip away.

You had no idea where this would go, but for the first time in a long while, that didn’t scare you. Because with Josh by your side, life wasn’t just happening to you—it was unfolding, one messy, beautiful moment at a time. The seasons shifted, summer settling in with its lazy, sun-soaked days and warm, starry nights. You and Josh fell into a rhythm that felt natural, like you’d always been part of each other’s lives. Your days were filled with impromptu adventures—getting lost in thrift shops, trying to cook with whatever strange ingredients Josh brought home from the market, and late-night drives to nowhere, windows down and music blasting. One evening, as dusk painted the sky in shades of lavender and gold, Josh showed up at your apartment with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Pack a bag,” he announced, barely waiting for you to open the doors he barged in. You raised an eyebrow. “Hello to you too. And For what exactly?” You laugh softly watching him walk past you. “Surprise road trip. No questions. Just... trust me.” He said looking back at you giving you his classic Josh grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You always have a plan, don’t you?” He shrugged, pretending to think. “Not really. Just a strong conviction that we’ll figure it out on the way.” He ended the conversation by walking up the stairs to your bedroom. Fifteen minutes later, you were in his Jeep, windows down, the smell of summer filling the air. Josh had a playlist queued up—songs that ranged from soft indie ballads to Rock and Roll. You didn’t care where you were headed, because being with him made the destination feel irrelevant. After a couple of hours, he pulled off the road at a small, hidden beach, where the sand met the cool, dark waves. The sky was turning indigo, the first stars peeking through. He opened the trunk and revealed a mess of blankets, pillows, and a thermos. “Thought we could camp out. You up for it?” You grinned, helping him set up a makeshift bed in the back of the car. “You’re ridiculously good at this spontaneous thing.” Josh flashed a sly grin. “It’s all part of my charm.”

As the night settled around you, he poured hot cocoa from the thermos, handing you a cup. You sat on the sand, shoulders brushing, listening to the waves crashing softly. “You know, sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming,” you admitted quietly. “Like this—us—it’s too good to be real.” He looked at you, eyes serious for once. “I get that. Sometimes I wonder when I’m gonna screw it up. But then I remember that you’re still here, choosing to put up with my chaos. So, maybe it’s real after all.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. You should know that by now.” He exhaled, like he’d been holding that breath for a while. “Good. Because I think… I think I might love you..” Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to look at him. He was biting his lip, clearly nervous despite his usual confidence. “You think?” you teased, a soft smile playing on your lips. He groaned, rubbing his face. “Okay, fine. I know. I know I love you. Happy now?” You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to kiss him. “Yeah. Because I love you, too.”

The tension melted from his shoulders, replaced by that signature crooked grin. “Thank god. I was starting to think I’d have to pull some grand romantic gesture.” You smirked. “Like what? Serenading me under the stars?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I could. Got the guitar in the car.” You pulled him closer. “Let’s save that for next time.” The night stretched on, filled with whispered confessions and stories of past heartbreaks and dreams for the future. You lay wrapped in blankets, his arm around you, the sky sprawling wide above. At one point, he traced patterns on your arm with his fingertips. “You know, meeting you—it changed something in me. I didn’t realize how much I needed this...needed you.” You squeezed his hand. “Funny. I was convinced I had life figured out. Then you came along and proved me wrong.” He laughed softly. “I’m good at that—proving people wrong.” You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other and the night air, until sleep took over. The world outside faded, and in that small, quiet bubble of the universe, everything was right. The next morning, sunlight crept through the car windows, and you woke to find Josh already awake, strumming his guitar quietly. When he noticed you stirring, he flashed you a sleepy smile.

“Morning, trouble,” he whispered. You stretched, still tangled in the blankets. “Were you playing for me?” He shrugged shyly. “Just something I was working on,” he admitted. “Kind of a song about us.” Your heart did that familiar, fluttery thing it always did around him. “Sing it to me?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then began, his voice raw and unguarded: “Met you with coffee stains and crooked smiles Didn’t know I’d find a home in those wild eyes Days blend like songs on a worn-out tape But I don’t mind, as long as we’re tangled in fate…”

You listened, captivated, as his words painted a picture of every imperfect, beautiful moment you’d shared. When he finished, he looked at you, almost shy. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, cupping his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes soft. “Nah. I’m just lucky. Lucky you spilled your coffee on me. Lucky you didn’t run the other way.” You kissed him softly, knowing that luck had nothing to do with it. It was something bigger—something neither of you could explain but both of you felt. And as the day unfolded, sun warming the sand and waves lapping at the shore, you knew one thing for sure: no matter where life took you, you and Josh would always find your way back to each other.

Summer passed in a blur of laughter, impromptu adventures, and quiet moments tangled in each other. You found yourselves creating rituals without even realizing it—lazy Sunday mornings at the café where you first met, late-night walks when the city was asleep, and rooftop stargazing while Josh made up constellations just to make you laugh. One evening, you found yourself in Josh’s house, the two of you sprawled on his couch. The place was cluttered with sheet music, books piled in precarious towers, and his guitar resting against his piano. You’d just finished watching a terrible horror movie, both of you laughing more at the cheesy dialogue than feeling any actual fear. Josh stretched his legs across your lap, wiggling his toes until you playfully slapped his ankle. “So, I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone unusually serious. You arched an eyebrow. “Dangerous territory.” He nudged you with his foot. “No, seriously. I’ve been thinking about...you know, us. This. Whatever we are.” You felt your stomach flip, nerves creeping in despite the easy comfort of the moment. “What about us?” Josh hesitated, running a hand through his wild curls. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. Not because I wanted to be, just because...it’s easier, you know? No expectations, no disappointments.” You nodded, unsure where he was going but not wanting to interrupt.

“But with you,” he continued, his voice softer, “it’s different. I don’t mind the messy parts or the hard parts. I actually...kind of want them. Because they’re yours. And I want all of it. All of you.” Your heart pounded as he shifted to sit up, his face earnest and just a little vulnerable. “I guess what I’m saying is...I’m all in. Whatever this becomes, whatever it is. I’m here for it. I just need to know if you are too.” You reached out, lacing your fingers with his. “Josh, you kind of turned my life upside down, you know that?” He looked momentarily worried, but you squeezed his hand. “But it’s good. It’s good because I didn’t know how much I needed someone who’s not afraid to be messy or real. You make me feel like I can breathe. Like it’s okay to just be myself.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re really bad at giving romantic speeches, you know that?” You laughed, swatting his shoulder. “I’m trying, okay?” He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Good. Because I’m not really good at it either. I’m just...good at feeling things. And with you, it’s kind of overwhelming sometimes.” You kissed him then, slow and deep, like you were trying to tell him without words that you felt it too. That you were scared, but it didn’t matter because he made the fear worth it.

When you pulled away, he was still smiling, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. “So, are we doing this then? You and me—officially driving each other crazy?” You grinned. “Yeah. We’re doing this.” He leaned back, pulling you against his chest, and you settled into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. After a while, he whispered, “You know, I was thinking about writing a song about this.” You glanced up at him. “About what?” He chuckled. “About how you’re the best accident that’s ever happened to me.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted. “That’s cheesy, even for you.” He laughed softly. “Yeah, but it’s true,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. After that night, something shifted between you—something subtle but undeniable. You were still the same chaotic pair, stumbling through life one spontaneous decision at a time, but now there was certainty underneath it all. An unspoken understanding that whatever happened, you were in it together. One weekend, he took you to the coast—a craggy, windswept beach where you spent hours running from the tide and collecting smooth stones. You built a tiny cairn together, balancing the stones just so, and Josh insisted it was a monument to your questionable decision-making skills.

That night, sitting by a bonfire he managed to coax into existence, you talked about dreams—his of finally recording an movie, yours of traveling without a plan. The firelight danced across his face, and he looked at you like you were something rare and precious.

He sang to you again, the melody quieter this time, almost a lullaby. “If I could hold time in my hands I’d press rewind to that first chance Coffee stains on a crowded street Where fate decided you’d find me…”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your fingers tracing the worn edge of his jacket. When he stopped playing, you whispered, “I never thought I’d feel like this. Safe. Happy. Kind of terrified.” He kissed your temple. “Same. But you’re worth the risk.” The stars burned bright above you, and the ocean’s rhythm seemed to pulse in sync with your heartbeats. You didn’t know where life would take you next, but for the first time, that uncertainty didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a promise.

A promise that you’d keep discovering each other, one unexpected moment at a time. And whatever came next, you knew you’d face it together.

Autumn crept in slowly, painting the city with shades of amber and gold. You and Josh found new rituals—pumpkin spice everything (which he made a show of hating but secretly loved), long walks through the park as the leaves crunched underfoot, and cozy nights wrapped up in blankets, watching movies that ranged from cult classics to bizarre indie films neither of you fully understood.

One chilly Friday evening, you were curled up on Josh’s couch, his head resting in your lap as you absentmindedly played with his curls. You were halfway through an old black-and-white movie when he suddenly sat up, looking at you with a spark in his eyes. “Let’s go somewhere,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. You glanced at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.” “Exactly. We’ll be the only ones out. Just us and the city. Come on.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet.

Within minutes, you were bundled up and out the door, your breath visible in the crisp night air. Josh led you through the winding streets, eventually ending up on the roof of a parking garage that overlooked the city. The lights stretched out like a constellation, and the distant hum of traffic felt strangely comforting. Josh pulled out his phone, scrolling through his playlists. “Dance with me,” he whispered, holding out his hand. You laughed. “Up here? There’s no music.” He hit play, and a soft, soulful melody filled the air. “Now there is,” he said, pulling you close. You let him guide you in a slow, swaying dance, his hands firm on your waist. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you under the city lights. He spun you unexpectedly, and you couldn’t help but laugh, nearly stumbling into his arms. “Careful,” he teased. “I’m not trained to catch falling coffee enthusiasts.” You smacked his shoulder playfully. “I haven’t spilled on you in weeks. I’m practically reformed.”

He grinned, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “Still my favorite criminal.” He spun you again and dipped you and almost dropped you. You grabbed onto him frantically as you squealed, he caught you and tripped falling against the edge of the garage. You stared at him in shock for a moment then burst out laughing hard. He laughed nervously “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy. Must be nervous.” He laughed nervously standing up carefully with you and continued dancing.

The song played on, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. When the track ended, he didn’t move, just kept holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Hey,” you whispered, looking up at him. “What’s on your mind?” He hesitated, biting his lip. “I’ve been thinking…about us. About how it feels like I’ve known you for a thousand years. Like every moment with you makes sense, even when it shouldn’t.” Your heart thudded in your chest, but you didn’t interrupt. “I used to think that I’d always be this wandering mess—never settling, never feeling like I belonged anywhere. But with you…it’s different. I don’t want to wander anymore. I just want to be here. With you.” You felt a lump rise in your throat, but you smiled. “Josh…” He cupped your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You make me want to stay. You make me feel like I’ve finally found something worth holding onto.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was soft and slow, like a promise exchanged under the night sky. When you pulled back, you whispered, “You’re home to me too. You and your wild ideas, your terrible sandwiches, and your stupidly perfect songs.” He laughed, brushing his nose against yours. “I love you.” You kissed him again, whispering against his lips, “I love you too.” A gust of wind made you shiver, and Josh immediately shrugged off his jacket to drape over your shoulders. You pulled it closer, inhaling his scent—earthy and warm, like cedarwood and coffee. “Do you think this is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like…our story?” He thought for a moment, looking out over the city. “I think this is just the beginning. We’ve got a lot more chapters to mess up and make beautiful. But yeah…it feels like we’re writing something good.”

You stayed there until the night grew colder, sharing stories and half-sung lyrics, dreaming up future road trips and midnight picnics. When you finally made your way back to his place, sleep tugging at your eyelids, he pulled you close in bed, tracing patterns on your back. Just before you drifted off, he whispered, “Promise me we’ll always be like this—messy and unpredictable.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I promise. As long as you keep dancing with me on rooftops.” His laugh rumbled through you, and he tightened his hold, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Deal.”

As sleep claimed you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was what love was meant to feel like—imperfect, spontaneous, and a little bit reckless. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but you were certain of one thing: wherever life took you, Josh would be by your side, hand in hand, coffee stains and all.

Winter crept in quietly, dusting the city with snow and painting the windows of your favorite café with frost. You and Josh spent most evenings wrapped in each other, huddled under blankets, watching the snowflakes dance outside. Sometimes he’d play his guitar softly, making up silly love songs that always made you laugh. One evening, as you sat on Josh’s couch with your legs tangled together, he looked at you with a contemplative expression. “What?” you asked, nudging his foot with yours. He didn’t answer right away, just traced circles on your knee. “I was thinking… would you want to meet my family?” The question caught you off guard. “Your family? Like… your parents?” He nodded slowly, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Yeah. They’re having this big holiday thing. It’s not, like, formal or anything. Just… I don’t know. I want you to meet them.” Your heart fluttered. “You’ve never mentioned your family much before.”

He gave a sheepish smile. “They’re kind of a lot. My twin brother, Jake, is the quiet one. He’s got this medium-length hair, always looks a little bit lost in thought. Plays guitar for the band, you know. He’s the chillest one out of all of us. Then there’s Sam, our youngest brother, who’s got shoulder-length hair and plays bass. He’s a bit of a free spirit, kind of always in his own world. Ronnie, our sister, she’s not in the band, but she’s the loudest of the bunch—full of energy, no filter. And my parents, Karen and Kelly… they’re great. Just… be prepared for a lot of questions and a lot of music.” You laughed, reaching up to cup his face. “I’d love to meet them. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” His eyes softened, and he kissed your palm. “Yeah. You’re…important to me. And I want them to know you.”

A week later, you found yourself in Frankenmuth, a tiny Bavarian town in Michigan. You were gripping Josh’s hand tightly as he led you up the path to a charming old house, twinkling with holiday lights. Before you could knock, the door swung open, revealing a quiet, familiar-looking face framed by medium-length hair. Jake gave a small, almost shy smile. “Hey, Josh. You made it.” Josh grinned. “Of course we did. This is—” Jake nodded at you with a calm, gentle expression cutting Josh off. “I know. Nice to finally meet you. Josh doesn’t really shut up about you.” Before you could respond, Ronnie appeared behind Jake, shoving him lightly out of the way. “Seriously? You’re the one who finally got Josh to calm down a little? You deserve an award.” She gave you a quick, tight hug before stepping back, eyes glinting with curiosity. Josh rolled his eyes. “Ronnie, maybe let her breathe?” Then came Sam, sauntering in with his shoulder-length hair tucked under a beanie, carrying a bass case. “Hey, you’re here! Awesome. Jake, Mom wants you to help set up the music stuff.” Jake gave a nod and slipped quietly past, his guitar strapped across his back. Sam gave you a casual smile. “You’re the girlfriend, huh? Cool. Hope you like loud family gatherings.” Just then, Karen appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and pulled you into a warm hug. “Welcome! I’ve heard so much about you. Come in, come in. It’s freezing out there.” Kelly followed, his presence calm and solid, offering a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you. Josh doesn’t bring people around often. You must be special.”

Inside, the house was cozy and filled with the scent of cinnamon and pine. Ronnie was already dragging you into the living room, where Jake was tuning his guitar and Sam was adjusting his bass amp. Dinner was a chaotic mix of laughter and banter, with Ronnie making sure to embarrass Josh by telling stories from their childhood. Sam occasionally chimed in with clever remarks, and Jake mostly listened, nodding along, only speaking when directly asked. At one point, Karen asked about your favorite music, and before you could answer, Josh blurted out, “She’s got good taste. Mostly. Except for that one boy band phase.one Direction right?” You smacked his arm playfully. “Don’t judge my teenage years.” Jake smirked softly, plucking a few quiet chords on his guitar. “Everyone’s got a phase. Josh used to sing in the shower to ABBA.” Ronnie burst out laughing. “Oh my God, I remember that!” Josh’s cheeks flushed. “I was practicing my range!” After dinner, the boys set up in the living room, deciding to play a few songs just for fun. Josh took his usual spot in the center, Sam with his bass, and Jake settled into a stool with his guitar, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings.

They played a few covers, and then one of their own songs. The room filled with the rich, soulful sound of Josh’s voice, Jake’s intricate guitar work, and Sam’s deep bass lines. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized—seeing Josh perform with his brothers was something else entirely. When the song ended, Karen clapped enthusiastically. “You boys sound better every time. Maybe you should add another member,” she joked, nudging Ronnie. Ronnie shook her head. “Nah. I’ll stick to dancing in the crowd.” After the impromptu performance, Josh led you to the back porch, the cold air biting but refreshing. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re doing great,” he whispered. You leaned into him. “Your family’s amazing. I see where you get your spirit from.” He chuckled. “Jake’s the calm one, Sam’s the wild card, and Ronnie’s… well, Ronnie. It’s always a circus.” You looked up at him. “But it’s a good kind of circus. I like it.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m glad. I wanted you to meet them because… I don’t know. You’re a part of my life now, and they needed to see that.” You smiled, your heart full. “I’m really happy to be here. They’re great. You’re great.”

He kissed you softly, snowflakes catching in his hair. “I love you,” he whispered. You kissed him back. “I love you too.” That night, as you lay on the pull-out couch in the den, listening to the muffled sounds of the family still buzzing with energy, Josh pulled you closer, resting his chin on your head. “Thanks for being here,” he murmured sleepily. You squeezed his hand. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” And as the snow fell softly outside, you knew you weren’t just part of Josh’s life—you were becoming part of his world. And that world, chaotic and musical and beautiful, was exactly where you wanted to be.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the distant sound of guitar chords. The house was quieter than last night, with a calm that only comes after a night full of laughter and music. Josh was still asleep beside you, his curls tangled and his arm draped over your waist. You carefully shifted out of bed, pressing a kiss to his temple before tiptoeing out into the hallway. As you made your way to the kitchen, you found Jake sitting at the dining table, a notebook open in front of him, quietly strumming his guitar. His medium-length hair fell in his face, and he seemed lost in thought. He looked up when he saw you and gave a small, almost shy smile. “Morning.” “Hey,” you whispered. “Couldn’t sleep?” He shrugged. “Early riser some days. Plus, once Sam’s up, it’s not exactly quiet.” He laughed softly. You smiled, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Last night was fun. You guys sound amazing together.” Jake’s lips curved into a modest smile. “Thanks. We’ve been playing together for so long, it’s kind of second nature now. Josh is… well, he’s always been the loud one. The voice. I’m just the background noise.” You frowned, pulling out a chair to sit across from him. “You’re more than that. You’re the foundation. The way you play—it holds everything together.” His eyes flickered with surprise, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks. “No one really says that. Usually, it’s just, you know, ‘Josh and the band.’” You reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. “I think you’re incredible. Josh knows it too. You all make the band what it is. After all, Josh said it was your band.” She smiled.

He looked down at his guitar, fingers absentmindedly plucking a soft melody. “Thanks. That means a lot.” Just then, the sound of shuffling feet interrupted, and Sam wandered in, his shoulder-length hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep. He gave a lazy wave. “Hey. You survived family night?” You laughed. “Barely. Your sister almost interrogated me to death.” Sam smirked. “Yeah, Ronnie’s the worst. She thinks she’s our manager even though she’s not in the band.” As if summoned, Ronnie burst in, fully awake and on a mission. “I heard that, Sam. If I were your manager, you’d have better haircuts and matching outfits.” Sam groaned. “Matching outfits? Please, no.” Jake just chuckled softly, clearly used to the sibling chaos. Karen appeared next, cheerfully bustling around the kitchen. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?” You nodded. “Surprisingly, yes. Your couch is actually really comfortable.” She set a plate of pancakes on the table and ruffled Sam’s hair. “We always make a big breakfast after a family night. Helps everyone recover from the madness.” As you all sat around the table, Jake and Sam continued to banter back and forth about setlists and song ideas while Karen occasionally threw in suggestions. Kelly wandered in, sleepy but smiling, and gave you a warm nod of acknowledgment. Josh finally stumbled in, his hair wilder than ever and eyes squinting against the morning light. He made a beeline for the coffee pot and grunted something that might have been “Good morning.” Ronnie smirked. “Nice of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty.” Josh ignored her, plopping down next to you and resting his head on your shoulder. “Why is everyone so loud?” he mumbled. You chuckled, running your fingers through his curls. “Because it’s morning, and normal people are awake now.” He made a dramatic groaning noise. “Morning people are the worst.” Jake nodded in agreement. As the breakfast chaos unfolded, Karen placed a stack of pancakes on Josh’s plate. “Eat, honey. You’re grumpier than usual.” 

Jake leaned over with a sly smile. “He’s just mad because he didn’t get his beauty sleep.” Josh flipped him off half-heartedly, making everyone laugh. When breakfast wrapped up, Sam and Jake grabbed their instruments and headed to the garage to rehearse. Ronnie dragged you into the living room, clearly eager to share stories about her brothers. “Did you know Josh used to practice singing in the basement with a hairbrush when we were kids?” she whispered conspiratorially. You tried not to laugh too loudly. “Seriously?” She nodded. “Oh yeah. He was all dramatic, like he was already performing for a stadium. Jake would just roll his eyes and play along. Sam wasn’t even born yet.” Just then, Josh walked in and shot her a glare. “I can hear you, you know.” Ronnie just grinned. “Good. You’re not getting out of me telling stories.” Josh rolled his eyes but pulled you to your feet. “Come on. Let’s escape while we can.” You followed him out to the backyard, the snow glistening in the sunlight. He wrapped his arms around you, his face buried in your neck. “Sorry about the chaos,” he mumbled. “They’re a lot.” You kissed his cheek. “I love it. I love them. And I love you.” His face softened. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” You shrugged playfully. “I try.”

He looked at you with that familiar warmth, the kind that made your heart feel too full. “I was worried you’d feel overwhelmed. They’re so… loud and different from just us.” You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Josh, it’s perfect. Your family is real and chaotic and beautiful—just like you.” He kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment. “Good. Because I don’t just want you to be a part of my life. I want you to be part of this—all of it. The band, the family, the messy mornings. Everything.” Your heart felt like it might burst. “I’m in. All of it.” He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Good. Because you’re stuck with us now.” The sound of music floated out from the garage, a familiar riff from one of the band’s songs, and Josh smiled. “Sounds like they’re warming up. Wanna go watch?” You nodded, taking his hand. As you followed the music, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging settle over you. This wasn’t just a visit—it was the beginning of weaving yourself into Josh’s world, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

The music from the garage grew louder as you and Josh made your way over, hand in hand. When you pushed open the side door, you found Jake and Sam deep into a jam session, the raw sound of Jake’s guitar intertwining with Sam’s groovy bass line. They didn’t notice you come in at first, too caught up in the rhythm.

Ronnie was sitting cross-legged on an old amp, nodding along, while Kelly stood in the corner, arms crossed, a proud smile on his face. When Josh walked in, Jake glanced up, giving a quick nod but not missing a beat. “Mind if I jump in?” Josh called out, his voice cutting through the music. Sam grinned. “Only if you can keep up, old man.” Josh rolled his eyes and grabbed his microphone from its stand. You couldn’t help but feel a thrill at seeing him like this—completely in his element. As Jake picked up the melody, Josh started to sing, his voice filling the small space, rich and soulful. Ronnie leaned over and whispered to you, “They’ve been working on this new song for a while. Sam wanted a more psychedelic vibe, but Jake keeps pushing for bluesy rock. They’re trying to find the middle ground.” You smiled, watching as Josh poured himself into the vocals, his eyes closing as he lost himself in the music. You couldn’t help but be captivated by the way his voice wrapped around the melody, powerful yet intimate.

When the song ended, the room fell quiet for a moment before Karen poked her head in. “That sounded amazing! Are you boys finally agreeing on something?” Sam laughed, wiping his forehead. “Maybe. It’s coming together. I like where it’s going.” Josh caught your eye, grinning like a kid who’d just found something he’d lost. He gestured for you to come closer, and you slipped into his arms. “What’d you think?” he asked, still a little breathless. “It was incredible. You guys are… wow. Just wow.” Jake smiled faintly, giving a small nod of approval. “She’s right. That was the best take we’ve done.” Kelly chimed in, patting Sam on the shoulder. “You boys keep at it. That’s got something special.” Jake plucked a few soft chords, thoughtful as always. “I think the bridge needs something more. Maybe some harmonies? Josh, what do you think?” Josh tapped his chin, considering. “Yeah, something ethereal. Maybe you and Sam can layer it while I keep the main melody. I can try a falsetto on top.”

You couldn’t help but admire how naturally they worked together, bouncing ideas off each other without ego or conflict. Ronnie rolled her eyes. “You guys are such perfectionists. It sounds great. Just play it like that.” Kelly chuckled. “They can’t help it. Artists, right?” After a while, the music died down, and Jake put his guitar back on the stand. “We’ll pick it up later. My fingers are about to fall off.” Sam agreed, already scrolling through his phone. “Yeah, I need a break. Plus, I’m starving.” You laughed, nudging Josh. “Does your family ever stop eating?” Josh grinned. “Nope. We’re like hobbits—second breakfast, elevenses, and everything in between.” Back in the kitchen, Karen was already putting out sandwiches and leftover pancakes. Sam made a beeline for the food, while Jake poured himself another cup of coffee, still humming the melody from earlier. You found yourself next to Ronnie, who leaned in conspiratorially. “So, you survived band practice. Not bad.”

You smiled. “It’s actually kind of amazing seeing them work together. They just… click.”Ronnie shrugged. “Yeah, it’s always been like that. Even when they were kids. They’d play in the basement for hours, trying to nail a single riff. I’d have to sneak down just to get them to eat something.” Josh caught your eye from across the room and flashed you a smile that made your heart skip a beat. Karen, noticing the look, sidled up next to you with a knowing expression. “He’s happier when you’re around. You know that?” You glanced at her, slightly embarrassed. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t expect to fit in so well.” She patted your arm. “That’s how it is when it’s right. Josh has always had big dreams, but it’s good to see him grounded, too. You’re good for him.” Later that afternoon, you found yourself on the back porch with Jake, who was quietly strumming his guitar. You sat beside him, sipping your coffee. After a while, he looked at you, his expression thoughtful. “Thanks for being good to him,” he said quietly.

You glanced at him in surprise. “Of course. I love him.” Jake nodded. “Yeah, I can tell. Josh can be… a lot. He’s always had this restless energy. It’s nice seeing him… settled. Happy.” You smiled, touched by Jake’s words. “He makes me happy, too. I didn’t know how much I needed someone like him until he showed up.” Jake’s lips quirked into a rare smile. “You balance him. I think that’s why it works.” Just then, Josh popped his head out the door. “You two conspiring against me?” Jake just rolled his eyes and kept playing, but you waved Josh over. He plopped down beside you, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look cozy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. Jake just smirked. “You’re insufferable.” Josh grinned. “You love me.” Jake didn’t deny it, just kept playing his guitar. That evening, as the sun set and the house filled with soft chatter and music, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be. Josh pulled you aside just before dinner, his face serious but his eyes warm.

“You okay? Not too overwhelmed?” he asked, brushing your hair back. You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m perfect. I love your family. I love you.” He let out a soft breath of relief, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. Because I can’t imagine bringing anyone else here. You fit. You just… belong.” You kissed him, slow and sweet, and when you pulled back, he was grinning like a fool. “You really are the best accident that’s ever happened to me.” And as the evening continued, with music and laughter filling the house, you knew that this wasn’t just a holiday—it was the start of something real, something lasting. A life where you and Josh could build your own melody, blending perfectly into the wild, beautiful symphony of his family.

As the evening rolled on, the house remained alive with laughter, music, and the occasional argument over whose turn it was to pick the next song. After dinner, Karen and Kelly insisted on everyone gathering in the living room for a family game night—something they refused to skip, even when the band was on tour.

You found yourself squeezed between Josh and Sam on the big, worn-out couch, while Jake sat on the floor, guitar resting against his leg. Ronnie plopped herself onto an armchair, clearly ready to dominate whatever game was chosen. Karen brought out a battered old board game—one that clearly had seen years of use. “Trivia night!” she announced, grinning as everyone groaned. “Mom, you know Sam cheats,” Ronnie complained. Sam shot her a glare. “I do not cheat! I’m just smarter than you.”

Josh leaned over and whispered in your ear, “They’ve been fighting over this game since Sam learned how to read.” You laughed and nudged him. “I’m not taking sides.” Kelly divided everyone into teams: you and Josh, Jake and Ronnie, and Sam paired with Karen. Immediately, the competitive energy shifted up a notch, especially when Kelly declared himself the game master. The first question was directed at you and Josh: “What is the capital of Mongolia?” You blinked, caught off guard, but Josh immediately whispered, “Ulaanbaatar.” You repeated the answer, and Kelly nodded approvingly. “Correct!”

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Show-offs.” Jake just smirked, clearly unbothered. “We’ll catch up.” As the game continued, you found yourself more caught up in the banter than the competition. Sam and Karen were a surprisingly ruthless team, snatching points with an efficiency that made everyone suspicious. Jake was calm and collected, even when Ronnie dramatically overruled his answers, while Josh kept whispering random facts in your ear just to make you laugh. When the final round came down to a tie between your team and Jake and Ronnie’s, Kelly pulled out the ultimate challenge: a music trivia question.

“This one’s for the win,” Kelly announced. “What year was Led Zeppelin’s first album released?” Josh looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Got any guesses?” You bit your lip, thinking. “Sixty…nine?” Josh grinned. “That’s what I was thinking.” You called out the answer, and when Kelly nodded, confirming it, Josh pulled you into a triumphant hug while Ronnie threw her hands up in defeat. “That’s not fair! Of course Josh would know that!” she protested. Jake just shrugged, looking amused. “You’re the one who answered ‘1971,’ not me.” Ronnie huffed but couldn’t help but laugh when Karen handed you and Josh the makeshift “Trivia Champions” crown made of tinfoil.

After the game, everyone gradually dispersed—Ronnie and Sam retreated to the kitchen to make hot chocolate, while Jake headed outside to get some air. You and Josh found yourselves on the back porch again, the night colder now, your breath visible in the air. Josh pulled you into his arms, resting his chin on your head. “You’re pretty good at trivia,” he murmured. You laughed. “I was guessing half the time. You’re the real brainiac.” He kissed your forehead. “Still, we make a good team.” The porch light flickered, casting a soft glow over the snow-dusted yard. You leaned into him, feeling safe and content. “I really love being here with you.”

Josh tightened his hold. “I was worried you’d feel out of place, but you fit right in. They love you. Jake even admitted it earlier.” You looked up at him, surprised. “Really?” “Yeah. He doesn’t usually say much, but when he does, it means something. He said you balance me out. That you make me… better.” You smiled softly, cupping his cheek. “You make me better too. I didn’t know how much I needed this kind of chaos until I met you.” He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, sweet kiss. The kind that made you forget about the cold and the world beyond that moment. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft and serious. “I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered. “I want you to be part of this—all of it. Not just the band or the music or the crazy family nights. I want you in every part of my life.” Your heart swelled. “I’m not going anywhere, Josh. You’re stuck with me.” He smiled that crooked, happy smile and pulled you back into his arms, swaying you gently in the quiet night.

Eventually, you both went back inside to find Jake playing a soft melody on his guitar while Ronnie and Sam argued over marshmallow proportions in the hot chocolate. Karen was folding laundry on the couch, humming softly, while Kelly glanced at the newspaper. When Jake saw you, he gave a small nod, and you couldn’t help but smile back. Josh sat down next to his brother, grabbing another guitar and matching his rhythm. They didn’t speak—just played together, their music blending seamlessly. You sat cross-legged on the floor, listening to the quiet, intimate jam session, feeling like you’d stumbled into something special. Ronnie eventually sat beside you, her head on your shoulder, while Sam offered you a steaming mug of cocoa. As the night wore on, Josh started humming along, his voice low and rich, blending with Jake’s soft guitar lines. You could see why they worked so well together—Josh’s energy and Jake’s calm were like two halves of the same soul.

When it was finally time to head to bed, Josh wrapped his arm around your shoulders and led you back to the den. You snuggled into the pull-out couch together, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as you listened to the quiet hum of the house settling. Just before sleep claimed you, Josh whispered, “You’re part of this now. You’re part of us.” You smiled against his chest. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” And as snow continued to fall softly outside, you couldn’t help but feel that, amidst the music and the madness, you’d truly found where you belonged.

It had been nearly a year since that winter trip to Josh’s family home—a year filled with whirlwind tours, spontaneous road trips, and quiet mornings wrapped in each other’s arms. Life had become a beautiful, unpredictable blend of chaos and comfort, and through it all, you and Josh found ways to keep your worlds intertwined.

The band’s success kept growing. Greta Van Fleet had just wrapped up a massive tour, playing sold-out shows in Europe and North America. You’d joined them for some of it—standing backstage, watching Josh command the crowd with that electric energy only he possessed. You loved seeing him in his element, but what you loved even more was the way his eyes always found yours in the crowd, grounding him.

Now, back home, the band was taking a much-needed break. You and Josh had settled into a small house on the outskirts of town—a cozy, eclectic space filled with mismatched furniture, vinyl records stacked haphazardly, and guitars propped up in every corner.

One evening, as you sat cross-legged on the living room floor, sorting through a box of tour memorabilia, Josh came in carrying takeout, a proud grin on his face. “Guess who managed to order food without messing up this time?” he announced. You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Did you actually get my order right?” He set the bags on the coffee table and dramatically bowed. “Double-checked it twice. No weird substitutions this time.” You laughed, pulling him down for a kiss. “I’m impressed.”

As you dug into your food, Josh picked up a setlist from the box you were sorting through. “Man, I forgot about this show,” he said, tracing the faded ink. “That night in Paris—the crowd was insane.” You smiled, remembering the way he’d pulled you on stage at the end, dancing with you in front of thousands. “You never told me you were going to do that.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “It felt right. Plus, I liked the look on your face—completely shocked and a little pissed.” You nudged him with your foot. “Yeah, because I wasn’t dressed to be on stage!” He just laughed, pulling you into his lap. “You looked beautiful. You always do.” Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his face lighting up. “It’s Jake. He and Sam want to come over. They’re bringing Ronnie too.”

You nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure there’s something to drink that isn’t just your weird kombucha experiments.” When his siblings arrived, the house filled with noise and life. Jake, quieter as always, greeted you with a nod and a brief, tight hug. Sam immediately claimed the armchair, while Ronnie barged in like a tornado, dropping bags of chips on the counter. “We come bearing snacks,” she announced. “And stories. Because Sam did something stupid at the last gig.” Sam scowled. “It wasn’t that bad.” Jake smirked. “He tripped over a cable and face-planted in front of the sound guy.” Josh howled with laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. “Oh no, Sam! Are you okay?” Sam waved it off. “I’m fine. Just my pride took a hit.” Ronnie leaned in. “And the best part? Jake didn’t even react. Just kept playing while Sam was lying on the floor.” Jake shrugged, completely unbothered. “The show must go on.”

As the night wore on, the house felt fuller than it had in months. Jake and Josh started noodling on their guitars, coming up with new melodies while Sam tapped out a rhythm on the coffee table. Ronnie was busy raiding your kitchen, muttering about the lack of decent snacks. Eventually, the conversation turned to what was next for the band. Jake spoke up first. “We’ve been talking about writing some new stuff. More collaborative this time. Josh, you up for it?” Josh nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. I’ve got some lyrics I’ve been messing around with. Thought about leaning into something more soulful—still rock, but deeper. Real.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna go introspective on us?” Josh shrugged. “Maybe. I just... I want it to mean something. You know?” You couldn’t help but smile at his passion. It was one of the things you loved most about him—how he always wanted to push boundaries and make music that resonated.

Later, when his siblings had gone, and the house was quiet again, Josh pulled you onto the couch, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm. “Sometimes I wonder if this is too good to be true,” he murmured. You looked up at him. “What do you mean?” He sighed, his eyes drifting to the window. “All of it. The band, you... this life. It’s like I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like it’s too perfect.” You cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours. “Nothing’s perfect, Josh. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. You’ve worked so hard for this—you deserve every bit of it.”

He kissed you softly, lingering as if memorizing the feel of you. “I guess I’m just scared. Scared of losing what we have.” You pressed your forehead to his. “We’re not going anywhere. You and me—we’re stronger than all the chaos.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Promise me we’ll always find our way back to this.” You smiled, your fingers threading through his curls. “I promise. No matter how crazy life gets, we’ll always find each other.” He sighed contentedly, tightening his hold. “You know, I wrote something the other day. A song. About us.” Your heart skipped a beat. “Can I hear it?” He hesitated, then reached for his notebook on the coffee table. Opening it to a worn page, he cleared his throat.

“It’s just a draft, but... ‘You and I, we’re reckless hearts Dancing through the fire, falling apart But every time I think I’m lost You’re the melody I find The chaos I don’t mind...’”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb, smiling softly. “It’s not done, but... it’s a start.” “It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Just like you.” He kissed you again, longer this time, like he was pouring every unspoken word into that moment. And as the city lights flickered outside, you knew that no matter where the music took him—or the band—you’d always be right there by his side.

A few months had passed since that cozy night in and life had picked up its usual chaotic pace. The band was deep into the creative process, working on a new album. Josh, Jake, Sam, and Danny were practically living at the studio, caught up in late-night recording sessions and endless takes.

You still had your routine together, though—quick breakfasts at your little dining table, hurried kisses before he rushed off to the studio, and late-night calls when he couldn’t make it home. You’d gotten used to his creative frenzies, how he’d sometimes text you snippets of lyrics at three in the morning or call just to hum a melody he couldn’t get out of his head.

One evening, you came home to find the house dark except for the faint glow coming from the living room. You pushed the door open, balancing takeout in one hand, and saw Josh curled up on the couch, his guitar in his lap, scribbling something in his notebook. He looked up, and his face lit up. “Hey! You’re home.” You smiled and kicked off your shoes. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the studio.” He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “Needed a break. Plus... I missed you.” You set the food down and walked over to him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Rough day?”

Josh sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “Yeah. Just... a lot of pressure. Everyone’s got their own ideas, and I’m trying to make it all fit. Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck between what everyone wants and what I feel the songs should be.” You knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. “Hey, it’s your voice. Your vision. They’ll follow your lead, Josh. They always do.” He smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.” You kissed him softly, feeling the tension melt from his shoulders. “Come on, let’s eat. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal all day.”

As you set out the food, Josh filled you in on the studio drama—how Sam was experimenting with a more psychedelic bassline that Jake wasn’t convinced about, and how Danny kept changing the tempo mid-take. It was clear that everyone’s creativity was clashing, but you could tell that Josh wasn’t angry—just overwhelmed. 

After dinner, he picked up his guitar again and started softly strumming, his voice low and thoughtful. You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder, just listening. “You know,” he murmured, “I wrote a song today. Kind of just... came out.” You perked up. “Can I hear it?” He hesitated, then nodded. “It’s rough, but... yeah.” He adjusted his guitar and started playing, his voice tender and unguarded. “All the noise and all the fire Chasing dreams till we’re so tired But in the quiet, I see your face And I remember why I’m in this place It’s you... it’s you... My home, my truth... When the world gets loud, I’m found In the way you hold me down...”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back tears. He strummed the final chord and looked at you, his eyes soft and unsure. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, reaching for his hand. “You’re beautiful.” Josh smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “I just... I needed to remind myself why I do this. Why all the chaos is worth it.” You brushed a kiss to his knuckles. “You always say the music is in your bones. It’s who you are. You just need to trust yourself. They trust you. You’ve got this.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You kissed his neck, breathing him in. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.” The next few weeks passed in a blur of studio sessions and late-night songwriting marathons. You’d wake up to find Josh strumming in bed, humming a new melody or jotting down lyrics on the backs of napkins. Despite the chaos, there was a sense of purpose in his movements—like he’d found his footing again.

One night, the band came over to your house after a long recording session. Jake looked exhausted but content, Sam was buzzing with excitement, and Danny seemed relieved to finally have a break. They spread out in your living room, cracking open beers and arguing about guitar solos. Jake leaned back, eyes half-closed. “Josh finally figured out the chorus on that track we were stuck on. Sounds... good. Real good.” Josh shot him a look. “It was a group effort.” Sam snorted. “Nah, man. You dragged us out of the creative pit. You should take some credit.” Ronnie, who had shown up with snacks, chimed in. “See? I told you guys. You just needed to stop overthinking it.” Danny stretched his legs out, grinning. “It’s gonna be one hell of an album. I can feel it.” 

Later, when everyone had cleared out and the house was quiet again, you and Josh sat on the fire escape, looking out at the city. He pulled you close, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I feel good,” he admitted. “Like... I remembered why I started this in the first place. It’s not about getting it perfect. It’s about making something real.”

You leaned into him. “You always do. That’s why people love you. Why I love you.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice soft. “I keep thinking about what happens when the album’s done. When the tour starts up again. It’s always moving—always going somewhere.” You looked up at him. “And I’ll be right there with you. Whether it’s on the road or waiting at home. We’ll figure it out.” Josh looked at you with that unguarded, vulnerable expression—the one he only ever showed when it was just the two of you. “You’re my constant. You know that?” You smiled, squeezing his hand. “And you’re mine.” The night stretched on, the city lights flickering in the distance, and you knew that no matter how crazy things got, no matter where the music took him, you and Josh would always find your way back to this—the quiet, the connection, the feeling of being home in each other’s arms.

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