Chapter 173

Abigail drove in silence for a few minutes, the tension from the parking lot still lingering — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was electric.

Emma leaned her head back against the seat, looking satisfied with herself. One hand rested on her belly, the other still lightly covering Abigail’s on her thigh.

Abigail finally glanced over. “You feel better now?”

Emma gave a soft hum. “Much.”

“You’re wild,” Abigail said, shaking her head with a smile that refused to leave her face.

Emma turned toward her. “No. I’m protective.”

Abigail’s expression softened at that.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Abigail said quietly.

“I know,” Emma replied. “But I wanted to.”

They pulled into the garage of their building, the car slowing as Abigail parked in their usual spot. The engine cut off, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Emma looked over at her again. “You good?”

Abigail nodded. “Yeah. I just… I like when you stand up like that. It reminds me you’re not just soft. You’re strong too.”

Emma smiled gently. “I can be both.”

Abigail leaned over and kissed her — slow this time. Not heated. Not claiming.

Just steady.

When they pulled apart, Emma whispered, “Let’s go upstairs. I’m tired.”

“From what?” Abigail teased lightly.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Don’t start.”

They both laughed.

She stepped out first this time, closing her door and walking around to open Emma’s again. Emma accepted her hand, sliding out carefully, her expression calm now — but still a little smug.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You proud of yourself?”

Emma shrugged lightly. “Very.”

Abigail laughed under her breath and leaned in to kiss her temple before moving to the trunk. She popped it open and started pulling out the grocery bags — mac and cheese ingredients, greens, cornbread mix, chicken, Emma’s snacks. She hooked as many as she could onto her arms.

“Give me some,” Emma said, reaching.

“Nope,” Abigail replied immediately. “You supervise.”

Emma rolled her eyes but stepped closer anyway, resting one hand on Abigail’s back while she loaded herself up like she was preparing for battle.

“You look like you’re about to hike a mountain,” Emma teased.

“I am,” Abigail said. “It’s called the elevator ride.”

They walked toward the building entrance together, Emma leaning lightly into Abigail’s side. Once inside the garage elevator, Emma pressed the button for their floor and then leaned back into Abigail’s shoulder.

“You know she was still staring,” Emma said quietly.

“I figured,” Abigail answered.

Emma tilted her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Abigail nodded. “I just don’t like the attention.”

Emma slipped her hand into Abigail’s free one between the grocery bags. “You don’t have to.”

The elevator opened, and they stepped out together. Abigail adjusted the bags and walked them toward their door. Once inside, she carried everything straight to the kitchen island and set the bags down with a soft exhale.

Emma kicked her shoes off and walked over slowly, watching her.

“You good now?” Abigail asked.

Emma stepped closer, sliding her arms around Abigail’s waist from behind again — softer this time. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I just needed to remind someone.”

Abigail smiled faintly and covered Emma’s hands with her own. “You definitely did.”

Emma kissed the back of her shoulder once before letting go. “Alright. Let’s unpack. I’m starving again.”

Abigail laughed. “Of course you are.”

Abigail began unpacking the groceries, moving in that steady, domestic rhythm she always slipped into once they were home. Butter into the fridge. Greens into the crisper drawer. Cheese to the bottom shelf. She organized everything without thinking, just muscle memory and habit.

Emma leaned against the island for a minute, watching her.

There was something about the way Abigail moved in their kitchen — comfortable, confident, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair falling a little into her face — that made Emma’s chest feel warm.

“You’re staring again,” Abigail said without turning around.

“I can’t help it,” Emma replied easily. “You’re attractive when you’re in your provider mode.”

Abigail snorted softly. “Provider mode?”

“Mmhm,” Emma nodded. “Cooking. Carrying groceries. Handling situations.” She tilted her head. “It’s hot.”

Abigail turned around slowly, shutting the fridge door. “You’re unbelievable.”

Emma pushed off the counter and walked over to her, resting her hands on Abigail’s hips. “I’m serious.”

Abigail’s hands naturally settled at Emma’s waist. “You were the one starting chaos in the parking lot five minutes ago.”

Emma grinned. “And?”

Abigail shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Emma leaned in and kissed her softly. Not heated. Not claiming. Just warm. “You love me.”

“That too,” Abigail admitted quietly.

Emma rested her forehead against Abigail’s chest for a moment, breathing in. “I just… didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

Abigail’s expression softened. She lifted Emma’s chin gently. “Hey. Look at me.”

Emma did.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Abigail said calmly. “No one is pulling me away from you. Not a professor. Not anyone.”

Emma studied her face, searching for any doubt — and found none.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Abigail brushed her thumb across Emma’s cheek. “You don’t have to fight every battle. I’ve got this.”

Emma nodded slowly, then cracked a small smile. “You do look good handling things.”

Abigail laughed quietly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Emma’s lips again. “Come on. Let me start dinner before you invent another craving.”

Emma gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, I do not invent them.”

“You absolutely do.”

Emma wrapped her arms around Abigail’s waist from behind again as she moved toward the stove. “I just listen to my body.”

“Your body wanted mac and cheese, fried chicken, greens, and cornbread,” Abigail pointed out.

“And?” Emma replied. “She has taste.”

Abigail chuckled, shaking her head as she began prepping the greens.

Emma rested her chin on Abigail’s shoulder again, softer now, calmer. “Today was good,” she said quietly.

“It was,” Abigail agreed.

Emma’s hand slid down to rest over her stomach. “And tomorrow will be too.”

Abigail glanced down at her hand, then covered it with her own for a moment before returning to her cooking.

“Yeah,” she said gently. “Tomorrow will be too.”

Emma’s voice was soft when she said it.

“Baby… I’m really hungry for food,” she murmured, stepping closer behind Abigail, “but can I have you again before the food?”

Abigail paused mid-chop.

She turned slowly, one brow lifting, trying not to smile too wide. “Emma.”

Emma bit her lip, hands sliding around Abigail’s waist. “What? I’m being honest.”

Abigail laughed under her breath. “You are unbelievable.”

Emma pressed closer, resting her forehead against Abigail’s chest. “I just… today was a lot. Good. But a lot. And when I feel like that, I want you.”

Abigail’s teasing expression softened instantly.

“You have me,” she said quietly.

Emma looked up at her through her lashes. “I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Abigail set the knife down and wiped her hands slowly on a towel. Then she reached for Emma, pulling her in by the waist.

“You are spoiled,” Abigail murmured.

“By design,” Emma replied.

Abigail kissed her.

Not rushed. Not frantic. Slow.

Emma melted into it immediately, arms sliding around Abigail’s neck, fingers threading into her hair. The kitchen faded into the background — the simmering pot, the faint hum of the fridge — none of it mattered for a moment.

Abigail pulled back just enough to look at her. “You sure you don’t just need a snack?”

Emma shook her head slowly. “No. I need you.”

Abigail studied her face — not lustful, not impulsive — just affectionate and warm and wanting closeness.

So she kissed her again.

Deeper this time.

Emma made a soft sound into her mouth, hands sliding down to grip Abigail’s hoodie lightly. Abigail’s hands moved over Emma’s back, holding her securely, grounding her.

They didn’t rush.

They didn’t need to.

It was less about heat and more about reassurance — about feeling wanted, chosen, safe.

When they finally broke apart, Emma rested her forehead against Abigail’s again, breathing steady.

“Okay,” she whispered, a little smile creeping in. “I think that will hold me over until you finish cooking.”

Abigail laughed softly. “You are something else.”

Emma grinned. “But I’m your something else.”

Abigail kissed her one more time — quick and sweet. “Yeah. You are.”

Emma slid back onto the counter, watching her with content eyes as Abigail turned back toward the stove.

“Don’t burn the chicken,” Emma teased.

Abigail pointed the wooden spoon at her. “Behave.”