Ariel unlocked the front door of their apartment a little after six, the scent of warm takeout trailing behind her as she stepped inside. Her arms were full—two brown paper bags in hand, a bottle of sparkling cider tucked beneath one arm, and a small paper-wrapped pastry box perched precariously on top. She was smiling before the door even fully opened, a glow in her cheeks that hadn’t left since Abigail walked out of her office.

  “Hello?” she called into the apartment. “Your hard-working goddess has returned, bearing treats!”

  From the living room, Holly answered, donning her most exaggerated southern belle accent. “Oh, thank heavens! I was just finishin’ up polishin’ the chandelier and wranglin’ the dust bunnies from under the settee.”

  Ariel stepped into the living room and burst out laughing.

  Holly stood on a little step stool beneath the ceiling fan, duster in hand, her long blonde hair swaying in a braid down her back. She was barefoot, wearing bike shorts and a pastel tank top with a cartoon ghost on it, her cheeks a little pink from exertion.

  “You are so stupidly cute,” Ariel said, still laughing, “and dangerously domestic. Is there anything you don’t do around here?”

  “I don’t not look good in every room,” Holly said, hopping down with a dramatic curtsy.

  Ariel dropped a kiss on her cheek as she passed and set the food bags on the dining table. She started unpacking them with a little flourish: spicy garlic tofu, mac and cheese from the soul food place Holly loved, Korean fried cauliflower, a tiny tray of mini eclairs. The sparkling cider went in the center, chilled and still sweating from the bottle.

  Holly eyed the spread suspiciously, duster still in hand. “Okay… what is this?”

  Ariel kept her expression innocent as she arranged the plates. “Just dinner.”

  “Uh-huh,” Holly said, lowering the duster. “You never bring home all my favorite things at once unless something’s up. What did you do?”

  “Wow,” Ariel said with mock offense. “Maybe I just wanted to celebrate my very lovely, very dust-covered fiancée?”

  Holly squinted at her. “...And?”

  Ariel sighed dramatically, then went to her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  “I was going to wait until after dinner,” she said, walking back toward the table, “but since you’re being relentless, fine. We’ll talk now.”

  She sat down across from Holly and took a breath, grounding herself.

  “Okay. So. Abigail came into my office today around two.”

  Holly blinked and slowly lowered herself into the chair. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is. But in a good way.” Ariel smiled, eyes gleaming. “She started by talking about the weekend; about how amazing it was, how well I handled everything. And then she showed me a folder full of articles. Dozens of them. All talking about me. About how I showed up, how I made people feel seen. But more than that, how real it all felt.”

  She paused, her gaze softening.

  “And then they started talking about you.”

  Holly’s eyebrows shot up.

  Ariel nodded. “They wrote about how you stepped in front of me when I got overwhelmed. How you handled the press crowd with charm and warmth, like it was second nature. People noticed, Vi. They loved you.”

  Color rose in Holly’s cheeks, but she didn’t speak. She just stared, eyes wide.

  “So then Abigail asks me,” Ariel went on, “if I’ve ever considered hiring you as my PR Manager. Which, duh, I have. But I told her the truth. I didn’t think it could work. I thought people would raise eyebrows, or say it was nepotism, or that I’d technically be your boss, and it’d be messy.”

  Holly gave a tiny nod, still quiet.

  “And then Abigail smiles at me,” Ariel said, her voice turning awed, “and tells me she let the weekend speak for itself. That the Board loved you. And HR came up with a plan.”

  She pushed the paper across the table.

  “They want to rewrite the PR Manager role so you’d report directly to Abigail, not me. No weird power dynamics. No conflict of interest. We’d be at the same level, technically. Just… working side-by-side.”

  Holly’s hands trembled as she picked up the page. Her eyes scanned the header first, then widened as she reached the bolded title:

  PR Manager to the Director of Game Development Salary: $130,000/year

  “Ari…” Holly whispered, eyes darting down the rest of the letter.

  “I know,” Ariel said, her voice cracking slightly. “I couldn’t believe it either. I started tearing up in the office. Because they see it too, Holly. They see how you support me. How you make me better. And they don’t want to separate us. They want to amplify what we already have.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Holly slowly lowered the paper and stared at her, stunned. Her mouth opened, then closed again, then opened once more. “I… I don’t even know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” Ariel said gently. “I just wanted you to see it. To know how much you matter. And if you want it—if this feels right—I’ll take the offer back with your signature.”

  Holly was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes shimmered, and she let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh and a sob at once. Then she stood from her chair, rounded the table in two quick steps, and dropped to her knees in front of Ariel, wrapping her arms around her waist, holding her tight.

  Ariel buried her hands in Holly’s hair and pulled her close.

  “You really did this?” Holly whispered against her stomach. “You made this happen?”

  “Abigail did,” Ariel murmured, voice thick with emotion. “But it was all you, Vi. You earned every bit of this just by being exactly who you are.”

  Holly laughed softly, then looked up at her, eyes shining. “You know I’m gonna say yes, right?”

  Ariel grinned. “I was hoping you would.”

  Holly surged upward and kissed her, sweet and breathless, before pulling back and pressing their foreheads together.

  “We’re really gonna work together?” she whispered.

  Ariel cupped her cheek. “Every day. Side by side.”

  Holly laughed again, a giddy, teary sound. “Okay. But if I’m your PR Manager, you have to let me make you tweet more.”

  “No promises,” Ariel smirked. “But I will let you feed me lunch during every break.”

  Holly pulled her into another kiss, then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Okay. Okay. We’re celebrating tonight. Like, champagne and dancing in pajamas celebrating.”

  “I already got cider,” Ariel said proudly. “But I’ll accept the dancing.”

  “Good,” Holly said, wrapping her arms around her again, still holding her close like she might vanish. “Because I’ve never felt prouder. Or luckier. Or more in love.”

  And with that, their dinner, forgotten and growing lukewarm, sat waiting on the table, while the two of them stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, too full of joy to care about anything else.

  Eventually, hunger found them again. It crept back in slowly, weaving between the giddy laughter and forehead kisses, until Holly’s stomach gave a very unladylike growl. Ariel raised her eyebrows at her with a smirk and pointed wordlessly toward the untouched food spread across the table.

  “Even your romance has limits, I see,” Ariel teased, rising to her feet and tugging Holly up with her. “The true mistress of your heart is Korean fried cauliflower.”

  “She knows what I like,” Holly replied solemnly, reclaiming her seat and dramatically fluffing her napkin. “You’re just lucky I’m polyamorous when it comes to starch.”

  Ariel snorted, settling back across from her, her sweater sleeves pushed up and her eyes still misty from everything that had just unfolded. She reached for the cider and poured two glasses with ceremony—only slightly spilling one.

  “To PR scandals and power couples,” she said, raising her glass.

  “To public adoration and private cuddles,” Holly replied, clinking gently.

  They dug in, finally. The food had cooled slightly, but it didn’t matter—every bite still hit with warmth and memory. The garlicky tofu was crisp and sweet, the mac and cheese creamy and dense. Ariel let out a soft hum of contentment after her first mouthful, her shoulders sinking lower with each passing moment.

  And then, predictably, Holly picked up a piece of fried cauliflower and leaned over the table with it.

  “Aaah,” she said, wiggling the morsel in the air like a baby bird’s mother.

  Ariel narrowed her eyes. “I have hands, Sinclair.”

  “Not when I’m your PR Manager. You’re far too important to lift your own fork,” Holly said, adopting a posh accent.

  Ariel rolled her eyes, opened her mouth, and let Holly feed her anyway. “Mmhh. Okay, you’re hired.”

  They laughed, hands brushing as Holly slid another bite, and the conversation fell easily into the realm of what Holly was already calling her “Master Plan for Brand Domination.”

  “First of all,” Holly said around a bite of mac and cheese, “I want to update your online bio. It should start with something like, ‘Ariel McIntyre is a radiant visionary whose quiet genius is only matched by her stunning good looks and unwavering devotion to hot tea and cozy skirts.’”

  “Absolutely not,” Ariel deadpanned.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll tone it down. But the tea stays.”

  “You’re writing fanfiction.”

  “It’s called elevating your personal narrative, thank you.”

  Ariel grinned and popped a small piece of tofu into her mouth. “And what else does this fantasy entail?”

  Holly leaned forward, counting off on her fingers. “Monthly developer spotlight interviews. Instagram reels of you pretending to understand memes. A full behind-the-scenes mini-doc for Wispwood Haven where I just follow you around with a mic and catch all your grumpy work mumbles. Also, a sticker campaign. I’m thinking your chibi face with ‘Trust the Process’ written underneath it.”

  “I don’t even say that.”

  “You will when the stickers drop.”

  Ariel laughed so hard she nearly choked on her cider.

  Holly watched her with pure delight, then picked up a bite of mac and cheese and held it up. “Eat this or I’ll actually commission the stickers.”

  Ariel sighed dramatically, leaned forward, and accepted the bite. “You’re going to be so dangerous in this role.”

  “I’m already dangerous. I’m just getting paid for it now.”

  More food, more teasing. Ariel fed Holly back once, deliberately missing her mouth and smearing sauce on her cheek. Holly retaliated by feeding her a bite that was far too big, and they both dissolved into giggles as Ariel tried to chew while glaring.

  Eventually, when the pace of eating slowed, the conversation turned softer again.

  “I really didn’t expect this,” Holly murmured, her fingers brushing Ariel’s wrist where it rested on the table. “Not just the offer, but… how right it feels. Like I get to be the part of you that speaks when the words are too many. The buffer. The bridge.”

  “You already are that,” Ariel said softly, eyes meeting hers. “Abigail just gave us a title for it.”

  Holly smiled, quiet and wide. “Do you think people will take it seriously?”

  “Who cares?” Ariel said. “The only people who matter already do. And besides, you charmed a crowd of tech journalists while I was quietly panicking behind you. That’s more than most PR reps manage in a whole career.”

  Holly flushed, but didn’t look away. “I just saw the look on your face and knew you needed space.”

  “I always need space,” Ariel said. “And you always give it. With so much love it doesn’t feel like distance. It feels like permission to breathe.”

  Holly’s eyes shimmered again, and she reached across the table fully now, entwining their fingers. “We’re going to make such a good team.”

  “We already are,” Ariel whispered, squeezing her hand.

  Their plates were mostly empty now. The pastry box sat unopened beside the cider, forgotten in the glow of flickering candles and soft overhead light. They didn’t need dessert. Not right away.

  And as the evening wore on, they stayed: fingers tangled, voices low, dreaming out loud. Not just about work, or press strategy, or game pipelines.

  But about building something real together.