pazzi devotee

When she pulls up to the blue, Craftsman-style two-story home, she half expects something sleek and modern, with sharp-edges that is unmistakably architect-designed. Instead, the house leans into warmth and history. Ornate trim frames the deep front porch, flower beds are meticulously maintained, and the landscaping looks neat. It has character, and is certainly well cared for. 

It makes Azzi wonder which of them is the perfectionist.

Based on her limited time with Paige, she would’ve pegged the blonde as more carefree. After all, she’s the one who ended up stranded in the middle of a German winter with no idea how to get back to her hotel. Then again, traveling abroad does change people. Azzi knows that better than most.

Paige answers the door almost immediately, barely giving Azzi time to knock before ushering her inside. The warmth hits her all at once. Not just from the heat, but from the mouthwatering smell of whatever is roasting in the kitchen. Whatever it is, it makes her stomach tighten with hunger.

Azzi slips off her boots in the foyer and takes a moment to look around. 

The house feels lived in. Wedding photos line the walls. Ceramic mugs sit stacked neatly on an open shelf. Paige’s boots are kicked off near the door like she never bothers putting them away properly. It’s a home in a way Azzi doesn’t quite know how to sit with.

Probably because it makes her acutely aware of her own situation. Back in her parents’ house in her late twenties, still living out of boxes. She pushes the thought aside quickly.

Hopefully it’s temporary.

Emma appears from the kitchen, apron tied crookedly around her waist, black leggings and an oversized sweater dusted with flour. What catches Azzi off guard isn’t the outfit. It’s how effortlessly beautiful she is. Emma is a complete contrast to Paige, and somehow, they fit together perfectly. Paige is tall, with sharp angles and an athletic build. Emma is petite, softer, with dark green eyes, pale freckled skin, and black hair that falls loose around her shoulders.

Azzi extends a hand in greeting, but Emma pulls her into a warm hug instead. It catches Azzi off guard, but she doesn’t resist. There’s no awkwardness to it. 

They settle into the living room, the fire crackling softly. At first, the quiet presses in, and Azzi finds herself nervously tugging at the hem of her cropped black sweater. The tension fades quickly, though as small talk turns easy. They laugh about Paige’s first night in Munich. Emma shares a story about their honeymoon, how Paige refused to ask for directions, convinced they’d be kidnapped if they strayed too far from the resort.

By the time Emma disappears back into the kitchen, Azzi realizes she’s relaxed, and she honestly didn’t expect that.

Emma returns a few minutes later, apron still on, interrupting a heated but playful debate between Azzi and Paige about men’s soccer.

“Are you two ready for dinner?” Emma asks.

Paige turns to her wife first, grinning wide and unguarded. Azzi watches the way her entire face softens when Emma enters the room. The look of someone completely, undeniably in love is unmistakable.

Azzi swallows, the familiar ache settling in her chest. She remembers that feeling. Or at least, she remembers believing in it once.

“Of course! I’m starving,” Paige says, rubbing her stomach dramatically before turning to Azzi. “You ready?”

The smell from the kitchen makes her smile. “I’ve heard a great deal about how legendary this pot roast is, Emma.”

Trailing behind them into the dining room, Azzi takes in the table. Gray place settings sit atop light blue woven placemats, and pink lilies are nestled in a crystal vase at the center. Her smile lingers when she recognizes them as the same flowers she handed Paige at the door, now arranged carefully.

“Paige, you sure know how to put the pressure on me,” Emma laughs, shooting her wife a playful look before turning to Azzi. “I apologize in advance if it’s not world-class.”

Azzi chuckles as she takes her seat. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Truthfully, the bar is low. In Germany, her version of home cooking involved poorly executed pasta and microwaved leftovers. Her teammates banned her from cooking entirely after a food poisoning incident she prefers not to think about. Cottage cheese and fruit became her staples after that.

“What can I get you ladies to drink?” Paige asks.

Azzi sits up suddenly. “That reminds me! I brought my favorite bottle of wine from Germany.”

She retrieves it from her bag, offering it to Paige with a grin. Paige accepts it gratefully and pulls out two glasses, but before she pours, Azzi notices Emma’s expression change. A glance passes between them. Emma’s hand drifts to her stomach.

“As much as I’d love some,” Emma says gently, “I don’t think this little one would appreciate it.”

It takes Azzi a second but then the information clicks into place.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, her face breaking into a genuine smile. “Congratulations.”

Paige kisses the top of Emma’s head before pouring wine for herself and Azzi.

“It’s still early,” Paige says. “You just tempted her into spilling the secret.”

Azzi lifts her glass. “I’m really happy for you.”

She means it. Even if some quiet part of her feels like she’s witnessing something sacred. Something she no longer trusts herself to hope for. The way Paige and Emma exist together, the softness and certainty, fills the room. She should’ve noticed sooner, honestly. Emma’s glow isn’t just from being in love. 

Dinner passes quickly. The food is good, wine disappears faster than expected, and laughter comes easily. Before Azzi realizes how late it’s gotten, she’s sprawled on the leather loveseat, sinking into the cushions.

Across from her, Paige and Emma curl together on the couch, a fleece blanket draped over Emma as her head rests in Paige’s lap.

Azzi watches them for a moment, trying to keep her mind from wandering dangerous places.

“That was delicious,” Azzi murmurs, pulling her focus back to the present. “Thank you so much for dinner, Emma.”

Before Emma can respond, Paige pouts dramatically. “Hey, what about me?”

Azzi smirks. “Thanks for pouring the wine?”

Emma grins, lifting her head slightly to shoot Azzi a conspiratorial wink. “I like this one, Paige.”

Paige groans, running a hand through her messy blonde waves. “I see how it is.”

They settle into an easy lull, conversation tapering off into something quiet and comfortable. Dinner sits heavy and warm in Azzi’s stomach, making even laughing feel like too much effort. 

After another half hour, Emma’s yawns grow deeper. Her body sinks further into Paige’s lap, eyelids fluttering as she fights sleep. Paige watches her with open fondness, brushing a few stray hairs from her face, blue eyes tracing the soft curve of her jaw. The firelight has flushed Emma’s cheeks pink.

“Why don’t you head up to bed?” Paige murmurs. “I’ll clean up down here and be up in a few, okay?”

Emma nods, stretching before taking Paige’s offered hand to stand. Azzi notices the way Paige steadies her without thinking, fingers lingering just long enough to make sure she’s balanced. When Emma turns toward Azzi, her smile is warm. 

“It was really nice meeting you, Azzi.”

There’s something in her tone that makes Azzi pause. This isn’t polite hostess kindness. Emma seems genuinely glad she came. It makes sense, Azzi supposes. Emma has roots here—family, familiarity, safety. Paige doesn’t. Azzi can tell this move has weighed on Paige more than she lets on, and it’s clear Emma knows it too.

“Thank you for rescuing my helpless wife from the streets of Munich,” Emma adds, smirking.

Azzi chuckles as Emma leans in for a hug. It’s tighter than she expects, but comforting. She hugs her back without hesitation.

“I hope to see you again soon,” Emma says, pulling away. She tugs her cardigan tighter as a draft slips through the room, kisses Paige’s cheek, and whispers, “See you upstairs,” before heading toward the stairs.

Azzi watches Paige’s eyes follow her until she disappears from view.

She remembers loving someone like that. Watching them until the last possible second, just in case they turn back around. That was another life, though.

With a sigh, Azzi forces the thought away before Lucina’s name can settle too deeply in her mind.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Paige says quietly. “We haven’t gotten out much since moving, but I know Emma enjoyed the company.”

Azzi meets her gaze. The firelight flickers in Paige’s eyes, and for a split second, Azzi is pulled backward—to another fire, another apartment, and a different set of blue eyes glowing with heat and promise. She shoves the memory away.

“I had a good time too,” she says in a soft voice.

She hopes Paige doesn’t catch the surprise in her tone. If she does, she doesn’t let it show. 

They sit in silence after that. The fire crackles steadily, but Azzi suddenly feels overheated, unsure if it’s the room or the way Paige looks at her. It doesn’t feel assessing or flirtatious, but Azzi can’t really get a read on it. 

Finally, Azzi shifts, breaking eye contact. Something tightens in her chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the house. The way love exists so easily here. Something she once had. Something she lost. It starts to feel suffocating. 

“I should get going,” Azzi says, pushing herself up off the couch.

Paige nods. “Let me walk you out.”

Azzi grabs her bag while Paige disappears into the kitchen, returning with a neatly packed container of leftovers. Azzi laughs softly as she accepts it. 

“Thanks.”

Outside, the air is crisp, cutting through the warmth clinging to her skin. Crickets hum softly, leaves rustling in the distance. They walk toward Azzi’s car at a leisurely pace, neither of them rushing.

Azzi realizes how light she’s felt tonight. How easy it’s been. How much she doesn’t want to go back to being alone with her thoughts—or her parents and Dateline—just yet.

At the car, she hesitates. She should say something. She could joke about the cracker aisle, or Munich, or really anything to break this strange quiet. Instead, she just looks at Paige and realizes too late that she’s been staring.

Paige clears her throat. “Well… thanks again for coming.”

She opens the door for Azzi, and Azzi drops her gaze, suddenly aware of the tension humming between them, wondering if she’s the only one feeling it.

“Of course,” Azzi says.

She slides into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel. The keys sit in the ignition, untouched. She doesn’t know why she’s delaying. Maybe because she’s been drifting since coming home, waiting for something to anchor her again. Maybe because tonight made her feel normal.

Paige leans down slightly, resting lazily against the doorframe. “Goodnight, Azzi. Get home safe.”

Azzi nods, managing a small smile. “Goodnight.”