Under the Tree

Leon was still asleep, which was a miracle. He was usually restless, especially after hard days. But in that moment, he was completely out, making him look at peace in a way that made your heart swell with an overwhelming tide of affection. Lying on his stomach, one muscular arm draped across your waist, holding you against his side. His face was buried half in the plush pillow, half in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone with every deep exhale. You took a moment to look at him. The years had matured him gracefully, dusting his dark blonde hair with silver and etching fine lines around his eyes, lines that deepened beautifully whenever he smiled at you.

You lay there for a long time, perfectly content to be pinned beneath his weight. It was a Saturday, a day that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no schedule, nowhere else in the world either of you needed to be. The house was a sanctuary of peace, and you wanted to savor every second of it.

Eventually, the faint and persistent rumble of your own stomach reminded you that it was time to start the day. You wanted to make him something special, something warm and comforting to wake up to. Moving with the practiced stealth of someone who deeply cherished their husband's rest, you gently slipped your hand under his heavy forearm. Inch by inch you lifted his arm, sliding out from beneath the covers and quickly replacing the empty space beside him with a long body pillow. Leon stirred, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before he wrapped his arms around the pillow, burying his face into the fabric. You smiled, pressing a feather light kiss to his sleep tousled hair, and quietly padded out of the room.

The hardwood floors were cool beneath your bare feet as you walked down the hallway. The house was silent, wrapped in a blanket of morning stillness. As you entered the kitchen, the sunlight was already spilling across the counter tops, reflecting off the polished surfaces and making the whole room glow with a warm light.

You tied your favorite apron around your waist. First things first: coffee. But you knew the electric grinder would be too loud for a quiet house and more importantly, too sharp for Leon's ears. He suffered from mild hearing loss and a persistent, sometimes agonizing tinnitus. It was a lingering echo of his past that flared up when he was stressed, tired, or exposed to sharp or sudden noises. Instead, you reached for the bag of pre-ground roast he loved and set a silent kettle on the stove. While the water warmed, you gathered your ingredients. Today felt like a pancake morning. Fluffy, thick pancakes served with the fresh, sweet berries from the local market you had gone to the day before.

You set a large glass bowl on the counter and began adding the ingredients, the tap tap of the eggs against the rim of the bowl the only sound in the room. Reaching into the utensil drawer, you pulled out a standard wire whisk, the metal hitting the sides of the bowl as you mixed. Then you heard the unmistakable, heavy tread of footsteps descending the carpeted stairs. You didn't stop whisking, but you slowed your pace as the footsteps drew closer. They were slow, dragging slightly. The steps of a man who was still half asleep and entirely reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed. A moment later, his tall frame filled the doorway of the kitchen when you looked at him. He was a sight for sore eyes, wearing only a simple pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair, usually styled meticulously, was falling into his eyes in messy strands. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes squinted against the bright morning light pouring through the wide windows.

"Morning, handsome," you said softly.

Leon stopped, leaning his broad shoulder against the door frame, and just looked at you. A slow, soft smile spread across his face, melting away any lingering sleepiness and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Mornin', sweetheart," he replied, his voice a deep baritone, raspy and thick from sleep.

He pushed himself off the door frame and shuffled toward you. Before you could say another word, his arms were wrapping securely around your waist from behind. He pulled you against his chest, dipping his head to press his face into the crook of your neck. You sighed happily, leaning back into his solid, comforting warmth. He always made you feel incredibly safe.

"You left me," he mumbled into your skin, his lips brushing against it sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

"I only left to make you breakfast," you chuckled softly, your voice directed downward and away from him. "I thought you'd want to sleep in."

Leon's arms remained tightly locked around your waist, holding you flush against him, but he hummed a questioning and low note. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Hmmm? Didn't catch that, sweetheart."

You smiled, a rush of fond warmth blooming in your chest. His hearing problems were just a part of him, mostly affecting his left ear, and accommodating to it was entirely second nature to you. You turned your head, leaning back against his chest and angling your face so your voice would carry clearly.

"I said," you repeated, raising your volume just a fraction and articulating your words with loving patience, "I only left to make you breakfast. I thought you'd want to sleep in."

"Nah. Bed felt too big and cold without you." He kissed the side of your neck again, his light stubble gently scratching your skin. "Smells good in here, though. Coffee?"

"Almost ready," you promised, turning your head further to press a tender kiss to his warm cheek. "And pancakes."

Leon squeezed you tighter, burying his nose in your hair and taking a deep breath. "You spoil me. You know that, right? I don't deserve you."

"I absolutely spoil you," you agreed playfully. "And you absolutely deserve it. Every single bit of it," you added, replacing his self deprecation with validation like you always did.

You turned your attention back to the counter and resumed whisking the batter, the metal wire clinking against the glass again. Suddenly, you felt Leon stiffen behind you. It was a small reaction, a subtle tightening of his muscles that anyone else would have missed entirely, but you knew every nuance of this man's body. The arms around your waist tightened, and he subtly pulled his head back from your neck. You stopped whisking immediately, your hands freezing over the bowl, and turned in his arms to look at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, a small wince pinching his eyebrows. He raised his left hand to the side of his head, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against his ear while his fingers massaged his temple. His jaw was locked tight, the muscles jumping rapidly beneath his skin.

Your heart squeezed with immediate, overwhelming empathy. The ringing. He had told you that sometimes it was just a low hum he could ignore with a bit of effort, but other times, it was a sharp and high pitched noise that gave him a throbbing headache.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice dropping to a soothing register, ensuring you were facing him directly so he could read your lips if the ringing was too loud. "Ringing?"

Leon opened one eye, looking down at you with a mixture of apology and deep discomfort. He gave a single, tight nod. "Yeah," he rasped. "Started when I woke up, but that scraping sound..." he stops himself, not wanting you to feel bad about it, rubbing his earlobe as if he could physically brush the noise away. "I'm sorry. I'm ruining a perfect morning."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," you said firmly, though your tone remained gentle and dripping with love. "You haven't ruined anything. Come here. Let me help you."

You moved smoothly out of his embrace and immediately swung into action, your movements focused on his comfort. First, you took the metal whisk out of the glass bowl and placed it gently into the sink, pulling out a soft silicone spatula that would be silent against the glass bowl. Next, you walked over to the stove and reached up to turn on the exhaust fan in the middle setting. It came to life with a steady rushing sound, a constant low frequency hum of white noise that filled the room.

Leon watched you from the center of the kitchen, his hand still pressed to his head, eyes tracking your movements with wonder and deep gratitude. But you weren't finished. You picked up your phone from the counter and connected it to the radio sitting on the windowsill, selecting a carefully curated playlist of instrumental lo-fi. Within seconds, the soft and mellow notes layered perfectly over the deep hum of the exhaust fan.

You walked back over to Leon, who was staring at you, the tight wince on his face had already begun to loosen significantly. "Better?" you asked softly, reaching out to gently cup his stubbled cheek.

Leon leaned heavily into your hand, turning his head to press a long, lingering kiss into your palm. "Much better. You're amazing. You know that?"

"I'm just taking care of my husband," you said, reaching up with your other hand to brush a stray, messy lock of hair away from his forehead. "Now, go sit down at the island. You're holding tension in your jaw again."

Leon didn't argue. He used to back in the day, but he rarely did anymore when you took charge of taking care of him. He walked slowly over to the large kitchen island and sat heavily on one of the tall, cushioned wooden stools, resting his thick forearms on the cool granite counter. You stepped up closely behind him and Leon immediately dropped his head forward, exposing his neck. You placed your hands flat on his broad shoulders, taking a moment to just feel the radiant heat of his skin.

You began to massage his shoulders, your thumbs pressing into the tight, stubborn knots of muscle that always gathered at the base of his neck. Leon let out a deep, rumbling groan, his head drooping further forward as his posture completely melted. You moved your hands higher, fingers slipping into the soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck, massaging the base of his skull in small, firm circles. You brought your hands around to the sides of his face, thumbs finding the hinges of his jaw.

"Unclench," you instructed gently.

He obeyed immediately, parting his lips as you began to massage his jaw using slow, sweeping motions with your thumbs, pressing deeply into the stubborn knots and urging them to finally release. You could feel the exact moment he completely let go, his whole body seemed to sink heavily into the stool. He leaned his head back against your stomach, tilting his handsome face up toward the ceiling as you continued to expertly work out the tension in his face.

Looking down at him from this angle, you were struck once again by how fiercely and unconditionally you loved this man. He was so incredibly strong, so capable of enduring unimaginable things in the world outside these walls, but right now, he was completely vulnerable, openly allowing you to soothe his pain with nothing more than your touch and your undivided attention.

After several long, peaceful minutes, you slowly lightened your touch, trailing your fingers down the sides of his neck and coming to rest affectionately on his collarbones. You leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss to his forehead.

"Better?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leon opened his eyes slowly. They were clear, warm, and shining with an adoration that practically stole your breath away. The pinched, pained look was entirely gone, replaced by a radiant calmness.

"Perfect," he said softly. He reached up, covering your hands with his own larger, delightfully calloused ones, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Thank you. I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't ever have to find out," you promised, stepping around the stool to face him directly. You leaned in and pressed your lips fully to his. It was a slow, sweet, perfect morning kiss. Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing affectionately across your skin, holding you there for longer. When you finally pulled away, you gave him a bright smile. "Now, stay put. I have pancakes to finish making, and I am armed with the silent spatula."

Leon chuckled. "Yes, love. Whatever you say."

You returned to the counter, the rest of the breakfast preparation was a peaceful and quiet. You used the silicone spatula to gently fold the thick, vanilla scented batter, considering the absence of scraping sounds a massive victory. You poured two coffees in your matching mugs, placing Leon’s softly in front of him on the granite island. He wrapped both of his hands around it, letting the heat seep into his palms. You ladled the batter onto the hot pan, the sizzle completely masked by the soft hum of the exhaust fan and the mellow notes floating through the air. You moved around the kitchen deeply aware of Leon's eyes tracking you, a comforting gaze that made you feel incredibly cherished and seen.

When the pancakes were perfectly golden brown and fluffy you plated the food, arranging the fresh berries over the top of the stacks and carried two warm plates to the island, setting one down carefully in front of Leon before taking the stool next to him.

"This looks incredible," Leon said earnestly, picking up his fork. He cut a generous piece of the pancakes, dragging it slowly through the maple syrup before taking a bite. He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan. "Oh, man. You outdid yourself today."

"I'm so glad you like them," you smiled, taking a sip of your coffee.

You sat together in comfortable, golden silence, eating your breakfast side by side. The exhaust fan continued its steady hum above the stove. The lo-fi music played its melodies from the window. The sun climbed higher in the blue sky casting bright, geometric squares of light across the hardwood floor. Halfway through the meal Leon slowed his pace, his fork resting idly against the ceramic plate. He wasn't looking at his food anymore, his blue eyes tracking the way the sunlight caught the stray strands of your hair, turning them into threads of spun glass.

He pushed his empty plate aside and stood up from his stool, but he didn't head for the sink. Instead, he took two slow steps toward you. You remained seated on your high stool, your knees naturally parting to make room for him as he stepped into your space. He moved between your legs, his thighs brushing against yours, his large hands coming to rest on your waist. You reached up and brushed your thumbs behind his ears, over the skin where the ringing usually felt the sharpest. He leaned further down, bowing his head so his forehead could rest against yours.

"I don't think I tell you enough," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "How much this means to me."

"You don't have to tell me," you whispered back, your hands moving to frame his face, feeling the stubble beneath your palms. "But I love hearing it."

Leon leaned in the rest of the way, capturing your lips in a kiss that tasted of maple syrup and the lingering warmth of the sun. It was a slow, deep pull, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he pulled your seated frame closer to his standing one.

Leon pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours again. A small, crooked smirk, the one that still made your heart do a ridiculous little flip after all these years, tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I have an idea," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with tenderness.

"Oh yeah?" you teased, mirroring his smile. "And what’s that, Mr. Kennedy?"

He leaned in to brush his nose against yours, a boyish mischief in his eyes. "Marry me. Seriously. Let’s go find a chapel right now."

"Well," you said, leaning forward to peck his nose. "By my count, that makes this the fifth time you've proposed since we actually said 'I do.' If we keep having weddings, we’re going to run out of cake flavors."

"I'm okay with that," he chuckled. "I'll keep asking as long as you keep saying yes."

"Always," you promised.

Leon was still asleep, which was a miracle. He was usually restless, especially after hard days. But in that moment, he was completely out, making him look at peace in a way that made your heart swell with an overwhelming tide of affection. Lying on his stomach, one muscular arm draped across your waist, holding you against his side. His face was buried half in the plush pillow, half in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone with every deep exhale. You took a moment to look at him. The years had matured him gracefully, dusting his dark blonde hair with silver and etching fine lines around his eyes, lines that deepened beautifully whenever he smiled at you.

You lay there for a long time, perfectly content to be pinned beneath his weight. It was a Saturday, a day that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no schedule, nowhere else in the world either of you needed to be. The house was a sanctuary of peace, and you wanted to savor every second of it.

Eventually, the faint and persistent rumble of your own stomach reminded you that it was time to start the day. You wanted to make him something special, something warm and comforting to wake up to. Moving with the practiced stealth of someone who deeply cherished their husband's rest, you gently slipped your hand under his heavy forearm. Inch by inch you lifted his arm, sliding out from beneath the covers and quickly replacing the empty space beside him with a long body pillow. Leon stirred, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before he wrapped his arms around the pillow, burying his face into the fabric. You smiled, pressing a feather light kiss to his sleep tousled hair, and quietly padded out of the room.

The hardwood floors were cool beneath your bare feet as you walked down the hallway. The house was silent, wrapped in a blanket of morning stillness. As you entered the kitchen, the sunlight was already spilling across the counter tops, reflecting off the polished surfaces and making the whole room glow with a warm light.

You tied your favorite apron around your waist. First things first: coffee. But you knew the electric grinder would be too loud for a quiet house and more importantly, too sharp for Leon's ears. He suffered from mild hearing loss and a persistent, sometimes agonizing tinnitus. It was a lingering echo of his past that flared up when he was stressed, tired, or exposed to sharp or sudden noises. Instead, you reached for the bag of pre-ground roast he loved and set a silent kettle on the stove. While the water warmed, you gathered your ingredients. Today felt like a pancake morning. Fluffy, thick pancakes served with the fresh, sweet berries from the local market you had gone to the day before.

You set a large glass bowl on the counter and began adding the ingredients, the tap tap of the eggs against the rim of the bowl the only sound in the room. Reaching into the utensil drawer, you pulled out a standard wire whisk, the metal hitting the sides of the bowl as you mixed. Then you heard the unmistakable, heavy tread of footsteps descending the carpeted stairs. You didn't stop whisking, but you slowed your pace as the footsteps drew closer. They were slow, dragging slightly. The steps of a man who was still half asleep and entirely reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed. A moment later, his tall frame filled the doorway of the kitchen when you looked at him. He was a sight for sore eyes, wearing only a simple pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair, usually styled meticulously, was falling into his eyes in messy strands. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes squinted against the bright morning light pouring through the wide windows.

"Morning, handsome," you said softly.

Leon stopped, leaning his broad shoulder against the door frame, and just looked at you. A slow, soft smile spread across his face, melting away any lingering sleepiness and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Mornin', sweetheart," he replied, his voice a deep baritone, raspy and thick from sleep.

He pushed himself off the door frame and shuffled toward you. Before you could say another word, his arms were wrapping securely around your waist from behind. He pulled you against his chest, dipping his head to press his face into the crook of your neck. You sighed happily, leaning back into his solid, comforting warmth. He always made you feel incredibly safe.

"You left me," he mumbled into your skin, his lips brushing against it sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

"I only left to make you breakfast," you chuckled softly, your voice directed downward and away from him. "I thought you'd want to sleep in."

Leon's arms remained tightly locked around your waist, holding you flush against him, but he hummed a questioning and low note. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Hmmm? Didn't catch that, sweetheart."

You smiled, a rush of fond warmth blooming in your chest. His hearing problems were just a part of him, mostly affecting his left ear, and accommodating to it was entirely second nature to you. You turned your head, leaning back against his chest and angling your face so your voice would carry clearly.

"I said," you repeated, raising your volume just a fraction and articulating your words with loving patience, "I only left to make you breakfast. I thought you'd want to sleep in."

"Nah. Bed felt too big and cold without you." He kissed the side of your neck again, his light stubble gently scratching your skin. "Smells good in here, though. Coffee?"

"Almost ready," you promised, turning your head further to press a tender kiss to his warm cheek. "And pancakes."

Leon squeezed you tighter, burying his nose in your hair and taking a deep breath. "You spoil me. You know that, right? I don't deserve you."

"I absolutely spoil you," you agreed playfully. "And you absolutely deserve it. Every single bit of it," you added, replacing his self deprecation with validation like you always did.

You turned your attention back to the counter and resumed whisking the batter, the metal wire clinking against the glass again. Suddenly, you felt Leon stiffen behind you. It was a small reaction, a subtle tightening of his muscles that anyone else would have missed entirely, but you knew every nuance of this man's body. The arms around your waist tightened, and he subtly pulled his head back from your neck. You stopped whisking immediately, your hands freezing over the bowl, and turned in his arms to look at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, a small wince pinching his eyebrows. He raised his left hand to the side of his head, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against his ear while his fingers massaged his temple. His jaw was locked tight, the muscles jumping rapidly beneath his skin.

Your heart squeezed with immediate, overwhelming empathy. The ringing. He had told you that sometimes it was just a low hum he could ignore with a bit of effort, but other times, it was a sharp and high pitched noise that gave him a throbbing headache.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice dropping to a soothing register, ensuring you were facing him directly so he could read your lips if the ringing was too loud. "Ringing?"

Leon opened one eye, looking down at you with a mixture of apology and deep discomfort. He gave a single, tight nod. "Yeah," he rasped. "Started when I woke up, but that scraping sound..." he stops himself, not wanting you to feel bad about it, rubbing his earlobe as if he could physically brush the noise away. "I'm sorry. I'm ruining a perfect morning."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," you said firmly, though your tone remained gentle and dripping with love. "You haven't ruined anything. Come here. Let me help you."

You moved smoothly out of his embrace and immediately swung into action, your movements focused on his comfort. First, you took the metal whisk out of the glass bowl and placed it gently into the sink, pulling out a soft silicone spatula that would be silent against the glass bowl. Next, you walked over to the stove and reached up to turn on the exhaust fan in the middle setting. It came to life with a steady rushing sound, a constant low frequency hum of white noise that filled the room.

Leon watched you from the center of the kitchen, his hand still pressed to his head, eyes tracking your movements with wonder and deep gratitude. But you weren't finished. You picked up your phone from the counter and connected it to the radio sitting on the windowsill, selecting a carefully curated playlist of instrumental lo-fi. Within seconds, the soft and mellow notes layered perfectly over the deep hum of the exhaust fan.

You walked back over to Leon, who was staring at you, the tight wince on his face had already begun to loosen significantly. "Better?" you asked softly, reaching out to gently cup his stubbled cheek.

Leon leaned heavily into your hand, turning his head to press a long, lingering kiss into your palm. "Much better. You're amazing. You know that?"

"I'm just taking care of my husband," you said, reaching up with your other hand to brush a stray, messy lock of hair away from his forehead. "Now, go sit down at the island. You're holding tension in your jaw again."

Leon didn't argue. He used to back in the day, but he rarely did anymore when you took charge of taking care of him. He walked slowly over to the large kitchen island and sat heavily on one of the tall, cushioned wooden stools, resting his thick forearms on the cool granite counter. You stepped up closely behind him and Leon immediately dropped his head forward, exposing his neck. You placed your hands flat on his broad shoulders, taking a moment to just feel the radiant heat of his skin.

You began to massage his shoulders, your thumbs pressing into the tight, stubborn knots of muscle that always gathered at the base of his neck. Leon let out a deep, rumbling groan, his head drooping further forward as his posture completely melted. You moved your hands higher, fingers slipping into the soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck, massaging the base of his skull in small, firm circles. You brought your hands around to the sides of his face, thumbs finding the hinges of his jaw.

"Unclench," you instructed gently.

He obeyed immediately, parting his lips as you began to massage his jaw using slow, sweeping motions with your thumbs, pressing deeply into the stubborn knots and urging them to finally release. You could feel the exact moment he completely let go, his whole body seemed to sink heavily into the stool. He leaned his head back against your stomach, tilting his handsome face up toward the ceiling as you continued to expertly work out the tension in his face.

Looking down at him from this angle, you were struck once again by how fiercely and unconditionally you loved this man. He was so incredibly strong, so capable of enduring unimaginable things in the world outside these walls, but right now, he was completely vulnerable, openly allowing you to soothe his pain with nothing more than your touch and your undivided attention.

After several long, peaceful minutes, you slowly lightened your touch, trailing your fingers down the sides of his neck and coming to rest affectionately on his collarbones. You leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss to his forehead.

"Better?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leon opened his eyes slowly. They were clear, warm, and shining with an adoration that practically stole your breath away. The pinched, pained look was entirely gone, replaced by a radiant calmness.

"Perfect," he said softly. He reached up, covering your hands with his own larger, delightfully calloused ones, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Thank you. I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't ever have to find out," you promised, stepping around the stool to face him directly. You leaned in and pressed your lips fully to his. It was a slow, sweet, perfect morning kiss. Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing affectionately across your skin, holding you there for longer. When you finally pulled away, you gave him a bright smile. "Now, stay put. I have pancakes to finish making, and I am armed with the silent spatula."

Leon chuckled. "Yes, love. Whatever you say."

You returned to the counter, the rest of the breakfast preparation was a peaceful and quiet. You used the silicone spatula to gently fold the thick, vanilla scented batter, considering the absence of scraping sounds a massive victory. You poured two coffees in your matching mugs, placing Leon’s softly in front of him on the granite island. He wrapped both of his hands around it, letting the heat seep into his palms. You ladled the batter onto the hot pan, the sizzle completely masked by the soft hum of the exhaust fan and the mellow notes floating through the air. You moved around the kitchen deeply aware of Leon's eyes tracking you, a comforting gaze that made you feel incredibly cherished and seen.

When the pancakes were perfectly golden brown and fluffy you plated the food, arranging the fresh berries over the top of the stacks and carried two warm plates to the island, setting one down carefully in front of Leon before taking the stool next to him.

"This looks incredible," Leon said earnestly, picking up his fork. He cut a generous piece of the pancakes, dragging it slowly through the maple syrup before taking a bite. He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan. "Oh, man. You outdid yourself today."

"I'm so glad you like them," you smiled, taking a sip of your coffee.

You sat together in comfortable, golden silence, eating your breakfast side by side. The exhaust fan continued its steady hum above the stove. The lo-fi music played its melodies from the window. The sun climbed higher in the blue sky casting bright, geometric squares of light across the hardwood floor. Halfway through the meal Leon slowed his pace, his fork resting idly against the ceramic plate. He wasn't looking at his food anymore, his blue eyes tracking the way the sunlight caught the stray strands of your hair, turning them into threads of spun glass.

He pushed his empty plate aside and stood up from his stool, but he didn't head for the sink. Instead, he took two slow steps toward you. You remained seated on your high stool, your knees naturally parting to make room for him as he stepped into your space. He moved between your legs, his thighs brushing against yours, his large hands coming to rest on your waist. You reached up and brushed your thumbs behind his ears, over the skin where the ringing usually felt the sharpest. He leaned further down, bowing his head so his forehead could rest against yours.

"I don't think I tell you enough," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "How much this means to me."

"You don't have to tell me," you whispered back, your hands moving to frame his face, feeling the stubble beneath your palms. "But I love hearing it."

Leon leaned in the rest of the way, capturing your lips in a kiss that tasted of maple syrup and the lingering warmth of the sun. It was a slow, deep pull, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he pulled your seated frame closer to his standing one.

Leon pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours again. A small, crooked smirk, the one that still made your heart do a ridiculous little flip after all these years, tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I have an idea," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with tenderness.

"Oh yeah?" you teased, mirroring his smile. "And what’s that, Mr. Kennedy?"

He leaned in to brush his nose against yours, a boyish mischief in his eyes. "Marry me. Seriously. Let’s go find a chapel right now."

"Well," you said, leaning forward to peck his nose. "By my count, that makes this the fifth time you've proposed since we actually said 'I do.' If we keep having weddings, we’re going to run out of cake flavors."

"I'm okay with that," he chuckled. "I'll keep asking as long as you keep saying yes."

"Always," you promised.