Chapter 161

The oven timer chimed softly, breaking the easy rhythm of sizzling oil and Emma’s quiet hum against Abigail’s neck.

Abigail glanced toward the stove and reached for the burner knob. “Alright,” she said gently, “before you fully fuse yourself to me—go take a shower.”

Emma lifted her head, blinking. “You kicking me out?”

“Absolutely not,” Abigail laughed. “I just want you comfortable. Dinner still has a little time.”

Emma smiled and pressed one last kiss into Abigail’s shoulder before slipping away down the hall. “Fine. But don’t finish without me.”

Abigail shook her head fondly as the bathroom door closed and the sound of the shower filled the apartment. She turned back to the stove, flipping chicken carefully, stirring the mac and cheese, adjusting the greens. The kitchen felt alive—warm, familiar, full.

A while later, the shower shut off.

Emma reappeared wrapped in a robe, hair damp and curling softly around her face. She looked relaxed, clean, and just a little sleepy. She leaned against the doorway, watching Abigail work.

“You okay?” Abigail asked, glancing over.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Actually… I need to finish my lesson plans tonight.”

Abigail paused. “Tonight?”

Emma nodded. “Monday’s my first day teaching. Guitar, piano, performance workshop. I want to feel prepared.”

Abigail’s expression softened with pride. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Emma smiled shyly and stepped closer, resting her hands lightly at Abigail’s waist. “Thanks, baby.”

“Go work,” Abigail said gently. “I’ll come get you when dinner’s ready.”

Emma kissed her once, slow and sweet, then headed toward the bedroom with her laptop tucked under her arm.

While the kitchen filled with the steady sounds of cooking, Emma settled into the small office down the hall. The door was open, light spilling out into the hallway as she curled up in the chair with her laptop balanced carefully in front of her.

She worked through her lesson plans one by one.

Intro to Guitar.
Piano fundamentals.
Performance workshops and student showcases.

She adjusted timelines, added warm-up exercises, made notes to herself about pacing and encouragement. Every so often she paused, one hand resting on her stomach, breathing through a wave of tiredness before continuing.

From down the hall, she could hear Abigail moving around the kitchen—pots clinking, oil sizzling, the oven opening and closing. The sounds grounded her. Made everything feel steady.

Emma smiled to herself as she typed the final notes for Monday.

Welcome students. Make them feel safe. Music first. Confidence second.

She leaned back when she finished, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet sigh of relief. Done. Everything was laid out, organized, ready. The nerves she’d been carrying all week finally loosened.

She saved the file, closed her laptop, and sat there for a moment longer, listening to the apartment hum.

Then she heard Abigail’s voice, warm and familiar, calling from the kitchen.

“Em, baby? Dinner’s almost ready.”

Emma smiled instantly. “Okay,” she called back. “I’m coming.”

She shut down the laptop, stood carefully, and smoothed her robe before heading back toward the kitchen. As she stepped into the doorway, the smell hit her fully—fried chicken, butter, cheese, cornbread.

Abigail looked up when she saw her. “You finish?”

Emma nodded, eyes bright. “Everything. I’m officially ready for Monday.”

Abigail grinned. “Proud of you.”

Emma crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Abigail’s waist from the side, resting her head against her shoulder. “And I’m starving.”

Abigail laughed softly, nudging her with her hip. “Good. Because dinner is about to be very ready.”

They settled back into eating, but the teasing energy lingered, buzzing warmly between them.

Emma took another bite of chicken and nodded approvingly. “Okay, real talk. This might be your best batch yet.”

Abigail smirked. “You say that every time.”

“Because you keep outdoing yourself,” Emma said. “One day I’m gonna tell you it’s just okay, just to see what happens.”

Abigail gasped dramatically. “That would devastate me. I’d have to re-evaluate my entire identity.”

Emma laughed, reaching for her greens. “Chef Abby, retired.”

“Never,” Abigail said. “I’d still cook for you. I’d just pout about it.”

Emma grinned. “You already pout.”

Abigail leaned back in her chair, pretending to think. “Wow. So much disrespect at my own dinner table.”

Emma kicked her foot gently under the table. “You love me.”

“I do,” Abigail said easily. “Even when you’re rude.”

Emma smiled, then pointed her fork again. “But seriously… you don’t think it’ll be weird, me teaching at the same college you’re going to?”

Abigail shrugged. “Not really. I think it’s kinda hot.”

Emma laughed. “That tracks.”

“I just mean,” Abigail continued, “you’re gonna walk into a room and know exactly what you’re doing. That confidence? Dangerous.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “There it is again. You worried?”

“Maybe a little,” Abigail admitted. “You’re charming. And patient. And talented. And you smile at people when you explain things.”

Emma shook her head. “Okay, now you’re reaching.”

“I’m not,” Abigail said. “You smile like you’re proud of them.”

Emma softened. “That’s because I will be.”

Abigail smiled back. “See? That.”

Emma laughed, then leaned forward slightly. “Still. I think I should be the one teasing you about professors.”

Abigail groaned. “Please don’t.”

Emma smirked. “I mean… two classes. Same professor. Grocery store run-ins. That’s a rom-com setup.”

Abigail pointed her fork at her. “You are not allowed to narrate my life like that.”

Emma giggled. “I’m just saying, if I start seeing dramatic looks from across campus, I’m blaming you.”

Abigail laughed. “Relax. I go to class, take notes, and come home to you.”

Emma nodded. “Good answer.”

They ate a little more, the conversation drifting easily.

“So,” Emma said casually, “if one of my students has a crush on me, what are you gonna do?”

Abigail didn’t hesitate. “Smile politely. Trust you completely. And then make dinner so good you forget their name.”

Emma burst out laughing. “That might actually work.”

“Exactly,” Abigail said. “Strategic.”

Emma reached across the table again, lacing their fingers together. “I love how secure you are.”

“I love how you choose me,” Abigail replied.

Emma’s eyes shined a little. “Always.”

They finished their plates slowly after that, jokes turning into softer talk, the kind that wrapped around them like a blanket. Emma leaned back in her chair, full and content.

“I’m really excited for Monday,” she said quietly.

Abigail smiled. “Me too.”

“For you or for me?” Emma teased.

“For us,” Abigail said. “For everything.”

Emma reached over and squeezed her hand. “Good answer again.”

Abigail laughed. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

Emma smiled, warm and happy. “Yeah… you are.”

They finished eating slowly, plates scraped clean, the table littered with crumbs and empty glasses. Emma leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh while Abigail gathered the dishes, carrying them to the sink.

“Stay right there,” Abigail said lightly. “I’ve got this.”

Emma smiled, tugging her robe a little closer around herself as she watched Abigail move around the kitchen. The sound of running water filled the space, plates clinking softly as Abigail washed and stacked them. She worked quietly, but every few seconds her eyes drifted back to Emma.

Then she stopped altogether.

Emma noticed first. “Baby?” she asked gently.

Abigail was just standing there, hands resting on the counter, eyes fixed on her like she’d forgotten what she was doing.

Emma glanced down, realizing the robe had slipped slightly off one shoulder, bare skin catching the warm kitchen light. She smiled softly, a little playful now. “You okay?”

Abigail swallowed, a slow smile spreading across her face as she took a few steps closer. “God,” she said quietly, honestly, “you are gorgeous.”

Emma’s cheeks warmed. She shifted just a little, letting the robe fall where it was. “Baby,” she murmured, voice lower, “you’re turning me on looking at me like that.”

Abigail let out a soft breath, her hand lifting to brush her thumb along Emma’s exposed shoulder, touch gentle and reverent. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to looking at you.”

Emma stood then, closing the distance between them. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I like when you look.”

Abigail leaned in and kissed her—slow, deliberate, full of warmth rather than urgency. Emma melted into it immediately, one hand resting against Abigail’s chest, the other curling into her hoodie as if grounding herself there.

When they finally pulled back, Emma smiled, forehead resting against Abigail’s. “Dishes done?”

Abigail chuckled softly. “Forgot about them.”

Emma laughed, tugging her gently closer again. “Come on. We can finish later.”

Abigail kissed her once more, softer this time. “Yeah,” she said. “Later.”

Emma leaned in and kissed Abigail again, slower this time, lips lingering just long enough to make Abigail’s breath hitch. When she pulled back, her voice was soft but teasing, eyes warm and steady.

“You know,” Emma murmured, brushing her nose against Abigail’s, “you could take me right here, right now.”