Our Love Blossoms

Her job is exhausting

The lock clicked shut behind her, sealing off the noise of the city. Before she could even drop her keys, Caleb appeared from the hallway.

He didn't make a big show of it. He just walked over, all six feet of broad shoulders and easy confidence, and took the heavy work bag from her shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Hey," he said, his voice deep and grounding.

He hooked a gentle finger under her chin, tilting her face up—way up—to his. At five feet tall, she always had to crane her neck to meet him, but he made it easy, leaning down to press a solid, lingering kiss to her forehead.

"You look beat," he murmured against her skin.

"I feel gross," Tut admitted, leaning her forehead against his chest for a split second, dwarfed by his frame. "Hospital air. I need to scrub it off before I can even think about anything."

Caleb pulled back, giving her a sympathetic smile. "Go on. I’ll be waiting."

Tut hurried to the master bath. The hot water was a blessing, washing away the smell of antiseptic and the stress of the neurology ward. She didn't linger too long, though. She dried off and slipped into her favorite set of pajamas– a matching silk camisole and shorts in a soft blush pink. They were cute, comfortable, and showed off just enough skin.

When she walked back out to the living area, she saw that Caleb had been busy. He had set up the large grey couch perfectly, arranging the fluffiest pillows in the corner and draping a soft knit throw blanket over the back. He was sitting there waiting for her, one arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, looking effortless in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

When he saw her, his eyes raked over her small frame, a slow, appreciative look that made her skin prickle pleasantly.

"Better?" he asked, patting the cushion next to him.

"Much," Tut said. She climbed onto the couch, and Caleb immediately reached for the blanket, tucking it around her shoulders. Then, he shifted, lifting her legs to rest them across his lap. His hands were large and warm, completely engulfing her ankles as his thumbs dug right into the arch of her foot where she held all her tension.

After a few minutes of blissful silence and deep thumb pressure on her arches, Caleb gave her ankles a final, gentle squeeze.

"Okay, Dr. Tut," he said, standing up. He towered over the couch, offering her his hand. "Massage is over. The chef needs a verdict."

He pulled her up easily, keeping his hand on the small of her back as they walked into the kitchen. The smell hit her harder now–garlic, white wine, and rich butter. On the island, two bowls were already plated. It wasn't just dinner; it looked like a page out of a magazine. Creamy risotto topped with perfectly golden-brown scallops and a garnish of fresh herbs.

"Risotto?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you make risotto?"

"Since YouTube taught me this morning," Caleb grinned, pulling out her barstool for her so she could hop up. "Apparently, the trick is adding the broth slowly. Very slowly. It took forever, so you better like it."

Tut took a bite. It was rich, perfectly salty, and the scallops melted in her mouth. She groaned, closing her eyes. "Oh my god. You’re never allowed to stop cooking"

"Good to know" he grinned, hopping onto the stool next to her.

They ate, their knees knocking together under the counter. The vibe was easy, the kind of comfort that only came from knowing someone completely.

"So," Caleb prompted, pointing his fork at her. "The department head. What did he do?"

"He questioned my diagnosis on the Edwards case in front of the residents," Tut vented, stabbing a scallop a little more aggressively than necessary. "Just because he’s been practicing for thirty years doesn't mean he reads the new literature. I had to politely explain  – with sources – why he was wrong."