I’m pulling the first batch of sourdough from the oven when the back door opens.
“Morning, handsome,” Chloe says, and even at 5:45 a.m., she looks beautiful. Her hair’s in a messy bun, she’s wearing my old bakery t-shirt with her jeans, and she’s carrying our morning coffees like she’s been doing this forever. Her’s with cream, mine black.
“Morning, gorgeous.” I take the coffee she offers, kissing her over the cups. “You didn’t have to come today. Don’t you have parent-teacher conferences?”
“This afternoon. I wanted to see you first.” She sets down her coffee and washes her hands. “What are we making?”
“Cinnamon rolls. The twins requested them for breakfast last night.”
“Our girls have excellent taste.” She ties on an apron —the one I bought her last week that says “I knead you” with a little heart— and I have to take a moment to just look at her.
Our girls.She says it so naturally now. Like Ava and Mia have always been hers.
Likewe’vealways been hers.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Just— I love you.”
Her smile is radiant. “I love you too. Now teach me how to make these cinnamon rolls before I burn something.”
We work together in the quiet pre-dawn, and it’s easy now. She knows where everything is, knows how I like things organized, anticipates what I need before I ask. We move around each other like dancers who’ve been practicing this routine for years instead of weeks.
“So,” Chloe says as she’s rolling out dough, “I have something to tell you.”
My hands still on the butter I’m melting. “Good something or bad something?”
“Good. Really good.” She looks up at me, eyes bright. “Principal Morrison called yesterday. There’s a permanent second-grade position opening up next fall. Mrs. Chen is retiring.”
“Mrs. Chen? Your second-grade teacher?”
“The one who made me want to teach in the first place.” Chloe’s voice is soft with emotion. “It feels like... I don’t know. Like everything’s coming full circle.”
I move around the counter to pull her into my arms, not caring that we’re both covered in flour. “You’re going to get it. That job is yours.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because you’re incredible. Those kids love you. Their parents love you. You were made for this, Chloe.”
She buries her face in my chest. “What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t.” I tilt her chin up, making her look at me. “But even if you did —which you won’t— I’d be here. The twins would be here. We’re not going anywhere.”
“I know. I just—” She takes a breath. “My whole life, I’ve been chasing this dream of being a teacher. A real teacher, withmy own classroom. And now it’s actually happening, and I’m terrified.”
“That’s how you know it matters.” I kiss her forehead. “The things worth having are always a little scary.”
“Is that why you were terrified when you kissed me that first time?”
“I was terrified because I knew you were going to change everything.” I rest my forehead against hers. “And you did. In the best way.”
She kisses me, slow and sweet, and the cinnamon rolls are forgotten for a long moment.
When we finally break apart, she’s smiling again. “Okay. Enough feelings. Let’s finish these rolls before the twins stage a revolt.”
We work in comfortable silence, but I catch her humming under her breath. Some song I don’t recognize. But I realize this is what happiness sounds like.
By the time we finish, the sun is starting to rise, painting the bakery in shades of gold and pink. Chloe plates the warm cinnamon rolls while I clean up, and when she comes to stand beside me at the sink, she leans her head on my shoulder.
