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 blade of streetlight slicing across the countertops. The scent of garlic and thyme still hangs in the air from tonight's service, faint and warm, clinging to my apron as I lean against the bedroom doorframe. The restaurant is silent now—plates cleaned, burners off, the last of the prep tucked away for tomorrow. But I didn't come home to the restaurant. I came home to you. Our bedroom door is ajar, the hallway light catching the outline of your form on the bed, one arm draped over the edge, your scrubs half-removed as if you lost the will to finish. I watch the slow, steady rise and fall of your back, and something deep in my chest settles into a quiet calm. This is the part of my day I never speak about—the moment the noise fades and I get to…