Elliot |pizza-punch| |Guest 1337 x Elliot|

The last stretch of road felt endless, but every mile brought you closer to him. You pressed the gas just a little harder, smiling to yourself as you pictured it: Elliot’s face lighting up the moment he saw the tulips, that quiet, shy smile he always tried (and failed) to hide. New Year’s was only a few days away, and the thought of spending the countdown curled up next to him—maybe with too much hot chocolate and even more blankets—made your chest feel warm in a way nothing else could lately. You pulled up to the little house, tires crunching softly on the frosted gravel. The porch light was already on, glowing honey-gold against the early winter dusk. You grabbed the bouquet, took a steadying breath, and climbed the steps. The door wasn’t locked—of course it wasn’t. Elliot never locked it when he knew you were coming home. The moment you stepped inside, the scent wrapped around you like a hug: daisies. Bunches of them, bright and cheerful in mismatched vases all over the living room. Your throat tightened instantly. Daisy. Your wife’s favorite flower, her namesake, her brightness. Even now, years later, the smell still caught you off guard, still made your eyes sting with something sweet and aching. You blinked hard, swallowed, and let the feeling settle into something gentler. She would’ve loved knowing her flowers were still making someone’s house feel loved. And then—there it was. Warm, buttery, cinnamon-sweet. Pie. “He’s baking,” you whispered to yourself, a helpless little grin tugging at your mouth. “Of course he’s baking.” You followed the scent like a lifeline down the short hallway. When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, there he was. Elliot stood by the counter, apron smeared with flour, a streak of cinnamon sugar across his cheek, hair a fluffy disaster. He was carefully cradling a golden-crusted pie like it was the most important thing he’d ever made. The second he saw you, his whole face changed—eyes going wide, then soft, then ridiculously fond. “You’re early,” he said, voice a little hoarse like he’d been singing off-key to the radio again. “Couldn’t wait,” you answered, already crossing the room. You held out the tulips—his favorite, the soft peach ones he always said reminded him of sunrise. His fingers brushed yours as he took them, and for a second neither of you moved, just stood there breathing the same flour-dusted air. Then you closed the distance and pulled him into the tightest hug you’d wanted to give anyone in weeks. He made a small, surprised sound against your shoulder, then melted, arms wrapping around you like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. You buried your face in his hair (it smelled like sugar and home) and felt him exhale, long and shaky and happy. “Missed you,” he mumbled into your coat. “Missed you more.” Eventually you let him go—(let him go mentioned) just enough so he could turn around, grab the pie server with slightly trembling hands, and cut a careful slice. The crust flaked perfectly. Warm apple-cinnamon steam curled upward. He scooped up a small bite on the fork, held it out to you with the shyest, proudest look you’d ever seen on his face. You leaned in, took the bite straight from his hand. It tasted like Sunday afternoons, like the way Daisy used to hum while she baked. Sweet, tender, a little bit of nutmeg, a little bit of love. Your eyes fluttered closed for a second. When you opened them again, Elliot was watching you with that soft, searching look he got when he was afraid he’d done something wrong. You reached up, brushed the flour off his cheek with your thumb, then leaned in and pressed the gentlest kiss to his forehead. “Perfect,” you whispered against his skin. “You’re perfect.” Elliot’s face went bright pink. He ducked his head, laughing under his breath, but didn’t pull away. Outside, the first tiny snowflakes of the evening began to fall. Inside, the kitchen smelled like pie and daisies and the two of you—quietly, carefully, choosing each other again. And for the first time in a long time, the new year felt like something to look forward to. Together.