quickly, quickly

5

The clock on the wall read 7:02 PM, and I let out a small sigh as I stirred the pasta on the stove. The sauce bubbled softly in the pan beside it, filling the kitchen with the smell of garlic and basil. I'd been home since 6, the quiet of the house both comforting and a little too empty.

Jim, our overly affectionate dog, sat by my feet, tail thumping rhythmically against the floor. He was always good company, but tonight I couldn't stop glancing at the door, waiting for it to swing open.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway finally broke the monotony. A moment later, the familiar jingle of Josh's keys reached my ears, followed by the door creaking open.

"Finally," I called out, trying to keep the teasing edge in my voice light as I turned down the heat on the stove. "I was starting to think the gallery swallowed you whole."

Josh stepped into the kitchen, still in his work clothes—crisp dress pants and a slightly rumpled button-down shirt. His tie was loose, and his hair had that tousled look it always got when he ran his hands through it too many times. He gave me a tired smile, his hazel eyes softening when they met mine.

"You're not far off," he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "It's been a day."

I handed him a glass of water, watching as he took a long sip before leaning against the counter. "Big day tomorrow with the exhibit, huh?"

Josh nodded, setting the glass down. "Yeah, a lot of last-minute changes. Artists being artists, you know how it is."

I didn't, really, but I nodded anyway. "Well, I made dinner. Figured you'd need something to unwind with after all that."

He smiled, this time a little wider, and pulled me into a hug. "What would I do without you?"

"Starve," I said, laughing softly as I wrapped my arms around him.

We sat down at the table, Jim curling up on the floor beneath us. Josh ate slowly, his shoulders relaxing more with each bite. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, the lines of stress on his face softening.

"You know," I said after a while, "you don't have to work yourself to death for every exhibit. It's okay to say no to people sometimes."

Josh let out a short laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "If only it were that simple."

I reached across the table, placing my hand over his. "I mean it, Josh. You've been running yourself ragged lately. You're allowed to take a breath."

He squeezed my hand but didn't say anything. Instead, he changed the subject, asking about my day. We talked about work, about Jim's antics while I was cooking, about a show we'd been meaning to watch together. The conversation felt easy, but there was an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place—something heavy that Josh didn't want to say.

After dinner, I cleared the table while Josh leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone. I dried my hands on a dish towel and walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He didn't pull away, but he didn't lean into me either.

"You know," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, "we could go upstairs... take your mind off work for a while."

Josh froze for a moment before turning around to face me. His smile was apologetic, almost pained. "Ty, I... I'm exhausted. Can we raincheck? I just need to crash tonight."

I swallowed the sting of disappointment, forcing a smile. "Yeah, of course. You've had a long day."

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You're the best, you know that? I'll make it up to you this weekend. Promise."

I nodded, leaning into his touch even as his hands dropped away. "You better," I said lightly, masking the ache in my chest.

The rest of the evening passed in a quiet routine. We curled up on the couch, Jim sprawled out on the floor beside us. Josh's head rested on my shoulder, and for a while, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be. But when his phone buzzed again—work, no doubt—I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever really get all of him back.