“Thank you for being here,” he said softly.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” I replied.

In the kitchen, the scent of seasoned meat and warm tortillas soon filled the air.

We worked together in a comfortable, practiced rhythm that we had developed over the past few weeks.

Daniel chopped tomatoes, his hands moving with the precision of an architect.

I shredded the lettuce and set out the small bowls for the toppings.

Chloe sat at the counter, swinging her legs and telling us a long, rambling story about a squirrel she saw at preschool.

It was a simple evening, devoid of any pretense or grand expectations.

It was exactly what I had spent years wishing for.

After dinner, I helped Daniel clear the table and load the dishwasher.

Our shoulders brushed as we worked, a comfortable warmth passing between us.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I asked, wiping down the counter with a damp cloth.

“A little,” Daniel admitted, shutting the dishwasher door. “It’s the biggest project of my career.”

He paused, looking out the kitchen window into the darkening Brookline yard.