From the start (Joel Miller x Reader) (EDITED)

Chapter 21

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, brushing the lake house windows with a chilly breath. But inside, the cold didn't stand a chance. The living room glowed with the golden light of a roaring fireplace, every flicker casting shadows that danced across the wooden walls. Joel moved methodically between the hearths, stacking logs and striking matches like it was a sacred ritual. He took his time, making sure each room felt wrapped in warmth.

You were already curled up on the thick, shaggy rug in front of the main fireplace, wrapped in the softest blanket you owned—the one Joel always stole when he thought you weren't looking. The heat from the fire kissed your cheeks, and in your lap rested your latest book, fresh from your publishing triumph.

Joel finally settled beside you, his movements slower now, deliberate. He looked at you the way someone might admire the calm after a storm. "You ready?" you asked, holding up the book like it was a little piece of your soul.

"Absolutely," he said, eyes sparkling as he lay down, resting his head gently on your lap. His lashes fluttered shut, a soft, contented sigh escaping him. You ran your fingers through his hair for a beat, marveling—again—at how this had become your life.

And then you read.

Your voice rose and fell with the rhythm of your story, the characters unfolding in the quiet hush of the room, the crackling fire filling the silences between words. The world outside fell away. It was just you, Joel, and the story. Your story.

You didn't know exactly when it happened, but his breathing slowed, and he reached up to gently hold your wrist, grounding himself in the sound of your voice.

Two chapters in, you paused to shift slightly, and Joel opened his eyes. Without a word, he took the book from your hands, set it softly on the rug beside him, and kissed your belly with reverent care.

Then he looked up at you—really looked—and you felt that familiar squeeze in your chest.

"That was amazing, really," he said quietly, his voice thick with something tender. "I'm proud of you."

Your heart did a full somersault. You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair again. "Thanks. It means a lot, coming from you."

He propped himself up on one elbow, the firelight catching the admiration in his gaze. "Your writing... You have a gift."

"It's taken a lot of work," you said, voice soft with emotion. "But having you here, listening like this... it makes all of it feel worth it."

Joel smiled—full, genuine, that smile that always got to you. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's incredible to see how far you've come."

The scent of garlic, lemon, and dill filled the kitchen as the salmon fillets sizzled softly in the skillet. You flipped each piece carefully, watching the golden crust form along the edges. Beside them, a rainbow of vegetables—zucchini, bell peppers, carrots, and broccoli—crackled in olive oil and spices, their colors a cheerful contrast to the chill seeping through the cabin windows.

Behind you, Joel stood at the dining table, laying out silverware with a casual rhythm. The phone was tucked between his ear and shoulder, and you could hear the faint sound of his daughter Sarah's voice on the other end.

He chuckled. "No, I swear, I didn't forget your weird allergy. No walnuts in the stuffing this year, promise."

You smiled to yourself, biting back a laugh. He had asked you three separate times if walnuts were in the house.

Joel looked your way and winked. "Yeah, I've got a good memory when it comes to my girls." He paused, listening, then said, "So, when are you coming home for the holidays? ...Mhm... You sure you don't need a ride from the station?"