The kitchen smelled like vanilla and warm butter. Y/n had flour dusted across her apron, a smear of chocolate on her wrist. The mixer hummed softly on the counter.

Then two strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her clean off the floor.

His voice was a low rumble against her ear, warm and teasing. Daniel. Forty-two, silver threading through his dark hair, a jaw that could cut glass. He'd come home early.