The café was closed for the night, but it glowed like a lantern from the inside. Hannah had lit a few candles on the counter, their flickering light dancing across the glass display. The smell of warm bread and cinnamon lingered in the air, blending with the soft hum of the record player in the corner.
Emma leaned against the doorway, watching Hannah arrange two plates—homemade pasta, simple and perfect. "You really didn't have to do all this," she said.
Hannah shot her a look over her shoulder. "Excuse me? My girlfriend gets invited to a major gallery, and you think I'm not celebrating that?"
Emma smiled, the word girlfriend landing like a quiet melody in her chest. "Okay, fair point."
They ate slowly, talking about everything and nothing—the regular customers, the weather, a new batch of pastries Hannah was experimenting with. But underneath the laughter and warmth, the unspoken truth lingered: two months apart.
When the plates were cleared and the candles had melted low, Hannah leaned back in her chair, studying Emma's face. "You're thinking too hard," she said softly.
Emma hesitated. "I just… don't want to lose this. Us. The calm we've built."
Hannah reached across the table, her fingers brushing Emma's. "You won't. We're stronger than a few weeks apart. And you've wanted this for so long. Don't let fear make you small."
Emma's throat tightened. "You always know what to say."
"I try," Hannah murmured, her thumb tracing gentle circles over Emma's hand. "Besides, when you come back, we'll be right here. The café, me, this table… all of it waiting for you."
For a moment, silence filled the space between them—the good kind, the kind that hums with promise.
Then Hannah smiled. "Now, if we're done worrying, I made dessert. And it's not just for the celebration."
Emma laughed, blinking away the emotion rising in her chest. "You're incredible, you know that?"
"I'm practical," Hannah said, standing to retrieve a small chocolate cake from the counter. "Cake solves everything."
They shared it straight from the plate, laughing, stealing crumbs from each other's forks until the night felt lighter again.
By the time Emma leaned her head against Hannah's shoulder, the candles were down to stubs and the music had gone quiet.
"Thank you," Emma whispered. "For everything."
Hannah kissed her hair softly. "Always."
Outside, the rain began to fall—soft, rhythmic, and steady—like the sound of the world promising to hold them through whatever came next.