It’s late when Chris gets home, well past midnight. The crowd tonight had been a bitch, bigger than normal, and he was already antsy because he’d gotten a text from you that your train had gotten in this afternoon. That had been around the time he got to the theater, so he’d had the whole afternoon and evening to imagine being in your arms.
He grins when he sees the little reminders that you’re here: the blanket that was over the back of the couch is now piled in the corner of it; your book, complete with a receipt bookmark, is lying on top of it; the container of cookies his mom told him the kids had baked for him is sitting on the counter. When Chris walks over to the island to investigate them and can’t help but grin when he sees you even went grocery shopping: the list he’d had stuck to the fridge is gone and there’s a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. He pulls open the fridge, which had been mostly empty this morning, to see it’s full.
Continued at senorita-stucky