Chapter 22 Got Your Favorites #2
I shifted closer to him. "This locket—I can feel how much thought went into it.
I can feel you and Macy talking about what would make me smile, what would remind me every day that I'm cherished.
That's what I was missing. Not expensive gifts—though they don't hurt!
" I smiled. "It's evidence that I'm in your thoughts in a way that matters. "
"I do think about you," he said softly. "I think about you all the time. I just—I got so focused on the company that I forgot about connecting."
"I know that now. I think what I want to see though, is that it's sustained too. That this isn't just a passing moment on the road to forgiveness that will later be forgotten."
"I've been thinking about what you said. About feeling buried under my stuff, about me not really seeing you. And you're right. I got so caught up in providing for us, in building this life, that I forgot to actually live in it with you."
He reached toward me, then stopped, his hand hovering in the space between us. "Can I—?"
I nodded, and he moved closer, taking my hands in his. His palms were warm, slight calluses, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
"I don't want to just be two people who happen to live in the same house," he said. "I want to be partners again. I want to be the couple who stays up too late talking, who makes each other laugh until our stomachs hurt, who actually sees each other every morning over coffee."
"I want that too," I whispered. "But Caden, I need you to understand—this isn't something that gets fixed with one conversation. Or one beautiful gift, as perfect as it is."
"I know." He squeezed my hands gently. "I'm not expecting everything to turn back time. I get that isn't possible. I'm just asking for the chance to show you, day by day, that I heard you. That I'm committed to doing the work."
I studied his face, looking for any sign of the dismissiveness that had become so familiar over the past few months. Instead, I saw fear, hope, determination, and something I'd almost forgotten—the man I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
"Okay," I said finally. "But I have conditions."
"Name them."
"First, I want to move back into our bedroom, but I'm not ready for us to be intimate yet.
I want to lie next to you, and I really, really want our bed back.
I think we need to buy a new bed for the guest room because it is absolutely terrible on the back.
" I laughed but then sobered. "I still need to take this slow. "
He nodded immediately. "Yes. Absolutely—to everything. Whatever timeline you need. Can I hold you though—in bed?"
I thought for a minute. Realized that I really missed his arms around me. The intimacy of being held. I am a cuddler. It's eye-opening how hard it is to be untouched for so long and how lonely it feels. "Yes. But that's our line, okay?"
At his nod, I continued. "Second, we're still doing counseling. Both of us, together. This is not a way out of that."
"Agreed. Completely. I've already researched three therapists," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I thought I would call them today and see if they are accepting new patients. If they are, then we can figure out together where we want to land."
I blinked in surprise. "You already—when did you do that?"
"When I got to the office. I looked through our plan and found a list of people covered, focused on those with experience who were local and with those who mention flexibility in their availability too."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. "Okay. That's good."
Taking a breath, I continued. "The third condition: we establish new boundaries around work. No phones during meals, no emails after nine p.m., and you don't cancel on family time unless someone is literally dying."
"Done." He didn't even hesitate. "Anything else?"
I considered, then smiled slightly. "Pizza's probably getting cold."
He laughed—the first real, unguarded laugh I'd heard from him in months. "Pizza. Right. I'll warm it in the toaster oven. Should I grab the caramel corn from the car?"
"In a minute." I watched him put the pizza in to warm and then led him to the couch where we settled into our spots, next to each other. "What show did you want to marathon?"
"Whatever you want. I know you probably want to catch the new season of Gilded Age. I'd be happy to watch it. I know I complained it was too slow, but I will watch whatever you want."
I raised an eyebrow. "You hate that show."
"I hate a lot of things when I'm not really paying attention to them. But if you're watching, I'm watching."
He got up to get the pizza and plates from the kitchen, and I used the moment alone to touch the locket again. The metal had warmed against my skin, and it felt so right. When he came back, carrying plates and napkins, I noticed he'd changed into a t-shirt and shorts.
"You changed," I observed.
"I wanted to be comfortable. Plus, these clothes don't carry the smell of stress and fluorescent lighting."
I laughed despite myself. "You smell like stress?"
"According to Macy, yes. She said I've been carrying myself like someone preparing for battle instead of someone coming home to his family."
He handed me a plate and settled beside me again, closer this time but still leaving space. The pizza was still warm, the cheese perfectly melted, the basil fragrant. I realized I was hungrier than I'd thought.
"This is good," I said after a few bites.
"It's the same pizza we've been getting for fifteen years."
"I know. But it tastes different today."
He looked at me, a question in his eyes.
"Better," I clarified. "It tastes better."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rain against the windows and the quiet hum of the house around us. It felt strange—foreign, almost—to be sitting here together in the middle of a weekday, no rushing, no agenda, no one needing to be anywhere else.
"Can I ask you something?" I said eventually.
"Anything."
"When you were planning all of this—the donation, the necklace—were you scared I'd say no to today? To giving us another chance?"
He set down food, considering. "Terrified," he admitted.
"Because I knew that if you said no, it would mean I'd broken something I couldn't fix.
And the thought of losing you, of losing us—" He shook his head.
"I've never been more scared of anything in my life.
I did this to us, and I couldn't turn the hands of time back. "
The weight of his words settled between us. I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. I knew this conversation wasn't just difficult for me. It was a lot for both of us.
"You didn't do this alone, Caden. I stopped fighting for us too. I started accepting the crumbs instead of asking for the whole meal."
"Why?"
"Because asking meant risking being told no. And somewhere along the way, I got tired of being disappointed." I squeezed his hand. "But I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want to be someone who settles for being unseen."
"You shouldn't have to be. And I'm going to spend however long it takes proving that to you."
I believed him. Not because the problems were solved—they weren't—but because for the first time in months, I felt like he was really here with me. Present. Engaged. Fighting for us instead of just coexisting.
"So," I said, reaching for the remote, "Gilded Age?"
"Gilded Age," he confirmed.
As the opening credits rolled, Caden got up to retrieve the caramel corn from his car. When he came back, he also had a blanket—the soft throw from our bedroom that I'd always loved but had left behind when I moved to the guest room.
"In case you get cold," he said, settling back beside me.
I pulled the blanket over both of us, and slowly, tentatively, I let myself lean against his shoulder. He went very still for a moment, as if afraid to move and break the spell, then carefully wrapped his arm around me.
We stayed like that for hours, eating caramel corn straight from the container, occasionally commenting on the outfits and the intrigue, scoffing at certain ridiculous scenes.
It was ordinary and extraordinary all at once—the kind of afternoon we used to have regularly but had somehow lost along the way.
Around mid-afternoon, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. The emotional exhaustion of the morning, combined with the warmth of the blanket and Caden's steady presence, was making me drowsy.
"You can sleep if you want," he said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath my ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I let my eyes drift closed, listening to the rain and the voices from the TV along with Caden's heartbeat beneath my cheek.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
Not just physically safe, but emotionally safe—like I could let my guard down without worrying that I'd wake up to find myself invisible again.
Just before I fully drifted off, I felt Caden press a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
"I love you, Felicity," he whispered. "I'm so sorry it took me so long to remember how to show you."
I wanted to respond, but sleep was pulling me under. Instead, I snuggled closer to him, my hand finding its way to rest over his heart.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new conversations, new work to be done. But today—today we had remembered how to just be together. And that felt like everything.