Evie desperately wanted to believe him, and she was ready to move forward, but she had been burned enough times. Most guys her age were only looking to have fun and she couldn't trust them to actually mean what they said, it was still too early in their relationship to be sure that he meant what he said. They had needed that time in separate bedrooms for a couple of nights, to make sure they could truly think about everything without distracting each other with kisses or soft glances, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't missed having him next to her at night; the bed felt so cold and empty without him.

Evie was a little shocked when he'd rather ask her about her day than watch the show he'd been excited about for a while now, but then of course he had to suggest that she didn't need to work. It was sensitive subject for her, and she was trying to keep the mood positive. They'd just finished fighting, she really didn't want to start another one. "No. I don't really like it per say." she started. It was true, she wasn't exactly the best barista and she'd grown a little jaded from working in customer service for so long but she wasn't like her peers, she had no desire on becoming TikTok famous. He may have had the means to support her better than she could support herself, but she felt like she had to at least try contribute always. "I know you can. It's just..."

Taking a sip of her own drink to buy a little more time while she pondered what she wanted to say next. "I might not need to work but I want to work." she knew he would understand that but she used this opportunity to her advantage anyway. "Maybe... I can take a break and try to find something I actually like instead?" It might have just been because she'd had a shitty day but she certainly wouldn't mind telling her boss to shove it before he had a chance to fire her. So far, making friends in this tight knit small town had proven quite difficult and Wyatt was the only person she had who she could spend time with. If she spent too much time at home, she feared he'd get annoyed with her and then she'd have nobody and would have to start all over again. Maybe she could try and find herself some friends while she looked for a job.

"Also, I totally spilled a coffee on someone today, thankfully it was iced. Who drinks iced coffee when it's snowing outside anyway? That's beside the point but yeah, they weren't happy, and it probably might be a real good idea to find something else." she admitted with a soft chuckle and a smile.

“If you want to work, fine.” He shrugged, having no problem with Evie wanting to earn her own money. “I want you to be happy, and I know you’re not.” Wyatt looked down at his food and mixed around the noodles, listening to her. “There are so many places in this town where you can work. You can even go up the mountain and see who’s hiring there,” he informed her. “I used to work at the resort before moving to Los Angeles. I can make some calls if you’d like?”

Wyatt frowned as Evie continued talking about her day and how she spilled an iced coffee. She finished it with a chuckle, but he didn’t. Wyatt sat his food on the coffee table before wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. “People are jackasses. I’m sorry he was a dick to you.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“Tomorrow, I think you should quit and spend the entire day with me,” he pulled back to look at her. “I’ll take off, like really take off, no phones, emails, nothing, and we can do something fun. How’s that sound?” Part of Wyatt’s problem is that he does all this work in the beginning to get the girl, and when he finally has her, he gets way too comfortable. He’d been aware of this; he just never tried to change it. Today was that day, though.

"Thanks for the offer but I'm going to need to find a new job on my own." she admitted. Spare their recent relationship issues, this was all seeming for too easy and 'fairy tale' for her liking. Evie wasn't used to having someone so willing to help her; he had already had them set up with a nice apartment to live in, he made enough money to support the both of them, and now he was offering to get her a job. It was honestly making her feel a little out of control and she desperately needed something to be strictly her own thing, but she did want him to know she appreciated the effort so she added with a smile, "But, if I can't find anything on my own, I'll keep that in mind."

Evie smiled even more as he wrapped his arm around her in pulled her in closer and apologized for the jerk. It was the sweet little moments like this that she'd missed having with him. "Really?" she asked excitedly at the thought of them having a whole day together. Part of her worried that his phone would still find a way to make its way into their day, but she remained hopeful. "That sounds amazing!"

Deciding that the best way to move forward, was to not dwell on the past. The evening may have started one way, but she intended on it ending on a much happier note. Wyatt was going to still have to prove himself by actually following through, but she figured she could reward him a little now anyway. Shrugging his arm off her shoulder so that she could reposition herself onto his lap with a leg on either side and a mischievous look on her face. "Dinner can wait."

FADE TO BLACK

[PS. I decided to end it, hope that's cool. Also, I'm gonna add here that maybe your muse would like to play in Hawaii? We could switch anywhere and see if that helps.]

The sliding glass door is cracked open just enough to let in the soft sounds of spring—birdsong, a breeze rustling the newly green trees outside, and the faint hum of life from the town below. Sunlight streams through sheer curtains, casting soft golden shapes onto the rug where Arlo, now one year and two months old, sits in a patch of warmth surrounded by blocks and picture books.

He babbles to himself, occasionally looking up at Evie, who sits cross-legged nearby in a worn hoodie and soft joggers, a cup of lukewarm coffee forgotten beside her. She watches him with that quiet awe only new mothers truly understand—equal parts exhaustion, amusement, and overwhelming love.

Arlo picks up a plush fox and waves it at her.

“Is that Mr. Foxy?” Evie smiles, her voice soft and warm. “You gonna read him a story today?”

Arlo responds by flopping backward onto his diapered butt and giggling. Evie laughs too and crawls over to tickle his belly, earning a peal of delighted toddler squeals.

The apartment smells faintly of lavender and toast, the kitchen counter cluttered with the morning’s chaos—half-eaten banana slices, a baby bottle, and one lonely sock Arlo had triumphantly pulled off and thrown somewhere. A gentle mess. A lived-in joy.

Evie rests on her side beside him, chin propped in her hand as she watches him stack two blocks—then immediately knock them over.

“You’re a menace,” she murmurs affectionately, brushing a curl off his forehead. “And way too proud of it.”

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock cuts through the stillness. Arlo’s head whips toward the door, eyes lighting up.

“Dada?” he says, voice small but hopeful.

The door opens and Wyatt steps in, grocery bags in both arms, hair slightly windblown from the spring breeze.

The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and the door eased open just enough to let the spring breeze follow Wyatt inside. He stepped over the threshold with both arms full—grocery bags dangling from his hands, the sleeves of his hoodie shoved up, wind-blown hair brushing his brow. The scent of lavender and warm toast hit him instantly, wrapping around his senses like a memory he hadn’t realised he missed until it was back again.

“Dada?” The small voice, fragile but full of light, came from the living room.

His heart gave a familiar stutter at the sound. Wyatt’s gaze lifted to the sight that waited for him—sunlight pouring through sheer curtains, dust motes dancing in the beam, and their son sitting smack in the centre of it all. Arlo, one year and two months old, cheeks flushed and curls wild, surrounded by toppled blocks and scattered board books, his tiny face bright with anticipation.

Wyatt’s chest tightened. “Hey, buddy,” he said, voice low and warm. “You holding the fort down?”

He crossed the room to the kitchen, stepping over a lone baby sock and the soft thump of Mr. Foxy, who had been unceremoniously tossed aside. The counter was a soft mess of morning chaos—half-eaten banana slices, a bottle tilted on its side, Evie’s forgotten coffee cooling near the sink. It was imperfect and real and entirely theirs.

He placed the grocery bags down gently, careful not to crush the strawberries Evie liked. His eyes found her a moment later.

She was on the rug beside Arlo, sitting cross-legged in an old hoodie and faded joggers, her expression tired but golden in the sunlight, her laughter still hanging in the air. Her hair was pulled up in a loose knot, wisps falling around her face in the most beautiful, unintentional way. She looked up at him, and Wyatt forgot about everything for a second.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, his voice softer now.

Evie smiled—just enough to make him feel like he hadn’t completely screwed everything up lately. She reached for Arlo as the toddler squealed, already trying to scramble to his feet.

Wyatt crouched beside them, reaching out to ruffle Arlo’s curls before kissing Evie’s cheek. “You two been running wild without me?”

Wyatt let out a low chuckle and scooped Arlo into his arms, lifting him high overhead as the toddler shrieked in glee. “I leave for forty-five minutes, and the house descends into toddler chaos. Unbelievable.”

He dropped a kiss on top of Arlo’s head, then looked at Evie again—really looked. Her eyes were a little tired, maybe still carrying some weight from the night before, but there was light in them, too. The kind that made him want to be better.

“Eat anything yet?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of his knuckles.

Evie’s smile tugged wider as Wyatt knelt beside them, the warmth in his voice grounding her more than the morning sun ever could. She leaned into the brush of his knuckles on her cheek, eyes fluttering closed for just a second. It wasn’t a grand gesture. Just a small, steady one. But after the weeks they’d had, it meant everything.

“I had half a banana and cold coffee,” she said with a dry laugh, her voice still low from the hush of the morning. “So, you know. Living the dream.”

Arlo squirmed in Wyatt’s arms, reaching for her with one chubby hand and a squeaky “Mamaaa,” like the moment wouldn’t be complete without her too. Evie leaned in and kissed his tiny fingers, then looked back at Wyatt.

“But we were doing okay,” she added softly, her eyes finding his. “Missed you, though.”

It came out quieter than she meant, edged with more truth than she usually let show during the daylight hours. There were still things between them—unspoken worries, long nights, the slow ache of learning how to be a family and not lose themselves in the process—but right now, none of that asked to be solved.

Right now, she just wanted this.

She reached out and gently touched Wyatt’s knee, grounding herself in him, in the sight of Arlo’s head tipped back with joy, in the smell of fresh strawberries and spring air and lavender that clung to their little home like hope.

“You got the good yogurt?” she asked, tilting her head, teasing now, because the softness in her chest was too big to hold all at once. “Or am I about to pretend to like plain Greek again?”

Her smile curved, a little more playful now. “I’ll forgive you either way, since you kissed me before asking.”

Wyatt felt the shift in the air the moment Evie leaned into his touch, her eyes falling shut for just a breath as his knuckles grazed her cheek. It wasn’t a grand moment—not the kind they used to chase when everything was still new and untested—but it was solid. Real. After the late nights, the missteps, the slow unravelling and rethreading of what it meant to be them, that quiet mattered more than he could say.

She joked about cold coffee and half a banana, but he didn’t miss the edge of fatigue under her teasing. He could see it in the slope of her shoulders, the way she lingered close to Arlo, how she hadn’t quite moved since he walked in. She was running low, and he hated knowing she felt like she had to.

Wyatt adjusted Arlo against his chest, the toddler’s warm little body fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm. Arlo had a death grip on Mr. Foxy and kept babbling softly, still half-distracted by the rustle of leaves through the cracked door. When he reached out again toward Evie, murmuring “Mama,” it tugged at something deep inside Wyatt. They were his whole world, both of them.

Her voice had softened when she told him they were doing okay, but she missed him. That part stuck. The vulnerability in it, her eyes held him like she needed him to know it wasn’t just a passing thought—it was a quiet plea for him to stay present—present, not just in body.

He offered a small smile, brushing his thumb over Arlo’s arm, then leaned forward and kissed the crown of Evie’s head again, slower this time. Then he pulled back and looked toward the kitchen, thinking of what was still in the grocery bag.

“I’ll make you something,” he said gently, already half-standing with Arlo tucked against his hip. “Whatever you want. Eggs, toast… and yeah, the good yoghurt. I wasn’t about to leave without it and get roasted before breakfast.”

He chuckled under his breath, but it didn’t take the softness out of his tone. He looked down at her again—at the hoodie, the messy bun, the way she looked like she belonged there on the rug, glowing in the early spring light—and reached to brush a loose curl from her forehead.

“If you want,” he added, nodding toward the hallway, “I can take him to the park after breakfast. Let you lie down. Take a real nap. Not the kind where you’re listening for him the whole time.”

Arlo let out a loud babble in agreement, not knowing what they were planning, but Wyatt laughed anyway and kissed his son’s cheek.

“Sounds like someone’s already on board,” he said, shifting his weight with a small grunt. “So, that’s two votes. You gonna make it three?”

He hadn’t waited for an answer just yet. He just stood there, taking in the way she looked at him and thinking—this, right here, was the life he wanted to show up for—every single day.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she just sat there, legs curled beneath her, watching him like she was memorizing the moment—the way Arlo clung to him, the way Wyatt's voice had gentled, the way his eyes held something that hadn’t always been there. Not lately, at least. Something rooted. Intentional.

And it undid her a little.

Because she was tired. Bone-deep. Not just from the sleepless nights or the endless to-dos, but from the quiet ache of carrying it all—this life they’d built in fast-forward. The weight of being needed, constantly. Of trying so hard not to need back.

But then there he was, offering breakfast and a nap and some small, golden piece of normal. Not just offering it—wanting to. She could hear it in his voice. Feel it in that kiss to her forehead that lingered longer than usual. And maybe that’s what cracked something open in her—because God, she missed being taken care of, even in small, silly ways like toast and the good yogurt.

She blinked, and her throat tightened.

“I vote yes,” she whispered, voice barely above the rustle of Arlo’s fidgeting. “But only if you sit with me for five more minutes.”

Her hand slid toward his, fingers brushing his wrist before curling loosely around it. It wasn’t a grip—more like a tether. A wordless way of saying don’t go just yet.

“I don’t need a nap as much as I need this,” she added quietly, her eyes lifting to meet his, soft and open. “Just… us. For a minute.”

She didn’t say thank you. Not yet. But it hung there, quiet and certain, between the warmth of their hands and the soft light pooling across the rug.

Wyatt let his forehead rest against hers for a few still seconds, breathing her in—lavender, coffee, something distinctly her—before pulling back just enough to look at her. The quiet between them felt heavier now, but not badly. It felt full, like it was carrying something important.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and careful, “I missed this. You. Him. Us.”

Evie’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

He glanced down at Arlo, who was now methodically trying to shove a block into Mr. Foxy’s face like it might fit if he just willed it hard enough.

“You think he’d be mad if we paused the destruction for pancakes?” Wyatt asked, cracking a soft smile. “I grabbed that oat milk you like, by the way. And strawberries. Not those sad ones either—the good kind. Smell like fruit and not disappointment.”

Evie’s lips twitched at that, enough to make his chest loosen slightly.

“I was thinking,” he continued, brushing his thumb gently over the back of her hand, “we eat, and then I take little man to the park for a couple of hours. Give you some quiet. Nap, shower, stare at the ceiling in blessed silence… whatever sounds good.”

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “You haven’t had that in a while. And I can handle him. Promise I won’t let him start a toddler coup at the swing set.”

As if on cue, Arlo let out a loud squeal and threw a block directly into Wyatt’s shin.

“Okay, maybe he’ll start a coup,” Wyatt winced, laughing. “But I’ll go down swinging.”

He leaned in again, kissing her temple—soft and lingering. “You do everything, Evie. You carry all of it. Let me take some of the weight today.”

His voice dropped as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“Let me show you I can.”

She didn’t argue. Not this time.

The old version of her—the one who’d spent years learning how to survive by doing it all herself—might have. Might’ve waved him off with a tired smile and a “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Might’ve picked up Arlo, made the pancakes herself, worn the exhaustion like armor just to prove she could.

But this version? The one sitting cross-legged on the rug with her heart cracking wide open? She just nodded.

And when Wyatt kissed her temple and stood to head toward the kitchen, Arlo trailing behind him with Mr. Foxy dragging on the floor, she let herself sink back against the couch cushions. She exhaled. For real this time. Like she was finally giving her lungs permission to stop holding everything in.

The sounds of the kitchen started up—fridge opening, the soft clatter of a pan, Wyatt humming under his breath like he always did when he cooked. Arlo babbled a steady commentary from his spot on the floor, half playing, half supervising. It was ordinary. It was nothing big.

But it felt like everything.

Evie tilted her head, watching them through the doorway, her chest aching with something sweet and sharp all at once. Because he was trying. Not just saying the words, not just kissing her like a promise—actually stepping into the space she used to guard so tightly.

She could hear the sizzle of the pan, the low scrape of a spatula. She could smell the oat milk heating, strawberries being sliced. And with every small, domestic sound, something inside her unclenched.

She didn’t have to do it all.

Not today.

And maybe not tomorrow either.

That thought hit her harder than expected, her throat thickening as she sank a little deeper into the cushions. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let her body relax. Not pretend-relax. Not the kind you do when you're still listening for the baby to cry or mentally writing a to-do list. Real stillness.

She let Wyatt take the reins.

And the quiet that filled the house wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of trust. Of love, even when it was messy. Of hope that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.