Evening plans

The phone had barely cooled from my call with Bob when the screen lit up again. It was Vic texting me.

"Man, these holiday parties have absolutely drained me," his text read. "I’ve been going since 9:30 this morning. But... I think I can rally."

I chewed my lip, looking at the clock. I didn't want him showing up just out of a sense of obligation and dinner. I pulled up the keyboard and typed back.

“Honestly, Vic, we don’t need to fuck tonight. If you’re wiped, just sleep. I’d rather you rest than force it.”

A few minutes passed. I figured he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, but then the three dots appeared.

"Give me a little credit," he replied. "I just need a second to reset. I think once I hop in the shower, get some food in me, and we just chill for a bit, I'll definitely be able to rally."

I smiled at the screen, a mix of appreciation and skepticism.

I hope you do, I sent back, but I’m serious—if you hit the wall and just need to crash, I would completely understand. No pressure on my end.

"I hear you," he texted back a second later. "But let's see how I feel after the shower. I'm not counting myself out yet."

I set the phone down, deciding to take him at his word. Just in case he did make it, I wanted to be ready. I reached for my favorite lotion, smoothing it over my skin, and finished with a few sprays of the perfume he’d bought me. The scent filled the room, making the wait feel a little more like an occasion.

I tried to settle into the wait, picking up a book, but the words blurred on the page. I flicked through the TV channels, but nothing could hold my attention for more than a few seconds. I knew I was excited to see him, but my nerves were starting to get the best of me. It was strange—in all the years I've known Vic, I have never been this nervous to see him.

I found myself pacing the length of the living room, listening for the sound of his car. When the knock finally came, my heart did a nervous little skip.

Vic stood there, looking tired but wearing a triumphant grin, his arms laden with heavy bags. He’d clearly been busy at the restaurant. As he walked in, the kitchen counter was quickly covered in a small mountain of to-go containers. He’d brought enough for a feast: Chicken Marsala, Chicken Piccata, three different types of ravioli, and a decadent-looking chocolate dessert.

Once the bags were empty and the spread was laid out, the frantic energy of his arrival suddenly softened. He turned to me, the light from the kitchen catching the warmth in his eyes. He bent down, closing the small gap between us, and kissed me.

I leaned into him, letting the familiar weight of his kiss ground me. When we finally broke apart, I searched his face. "How are you really?" I asked softly.

"Exhausted," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "It's been a marathon."

"What do you need first?"

He looked at me for a long beat, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I definitely need you first. But... I think I need a shower, some of this dinner, and maybe a nap before we actually get to the sex."

"Take as long as you need in the shower," I told him, giving him a gentle push toward the hall. "It’ll give me time to get the plates, utensils, and wine ready for when you get out."

He caught me for one more quick, sweet kiss before I laughed and shooed him off to my bathroom.

As the sound of the shower started up, I went to work in the kitchen, setting out the plates and napkins. I moved into the living room and struck a match to a candle. The scent was a close relative to the perfume I was wearing—similar enough to layer the air with something cohesive, yet with a deeper, muskier edge that felt right for the night.

I heard the water click off, followed by the muffled quiet of the house. A few minutes later, Vic came back down, looking refreshed but still carrying that heavy, sleepy grace of a man who had finally let his guard down.

As we started plating the food, I finally brought up what was on my mind. "Why did you tell Bob that I was home?"

Vic didn't even hesitate. "Because knowing you, you wouldn't have told him for another two weeks."

I let out a long sigh, leaning against the counter. "You know me well enough by now, Vic. When stuff involves me, it’s on me to tell those around me what's going on."

He paused, looking at me seriously for a moment before nodding. "I understand," he said quietly.

We sat down at the table and began to eat in a companionable silence, the only sound the clinking of silverware. We ate until we were completely stuffed, the richness of the Italian food finally taking the last of our energy.

"Go relax on the couch," I told him as I started gathering the containers. "I'll clean up from dinner."

Normally, he would have fought me on it, insisting on helping, but tonight he just nodded wordlessly. He headed over to the living room, and within seconds of laying down and pulling a blanket over himself, he was fast asleep.

I finished clearing the table and started the dishwasher, the low hum of the machine filling the kitchen. After drying my hands, I found two massive travel mugs and filled them both to the brim with ice water. I set one by the couch for him and grabbed a pen.

I wrote a quick note to leave right by his water: I'm heading up to the guest room. If you wake up, take the main bedroom so you can have some real peace and quiet. Sleep well.

I took my own mug and quietly climbed the stairs, leaving him to the silence of the living room.