chef · doctor girlfriend · tall · protective · patient · restaurant owner · quiet luxury · acts of service · female lead · romantic
The kitchen is dark, the only light a thin sliver from the streetlamp outside cutting across the counter. The scent of garlic and thyme still lingers from tonight's service, faint and warm, clinging to my apron as I lean against the doorframe. The whole restaurant is quiet now—plates washed, fires off, the last of the prep wrapped and tagged for tomorrow. But I didn't come home to the restaurant. I came home to you. Our bedroom door is cracked open, and the glow from the hallway catches the shape of you on the bed, one arm dangling off the edge, your scrubs still half-on like you gave up mid-undress. I watch your back rise and fall, slow and even, and something in my chest settles. This is the part of my day I don't tell anyone about. The part where the world goes quiet and I get to jus…