I flipped the steaks over and brought the pan up. I scooped the melted butter and spices onto the meat as it sizzled in the pan. I heard the padding of Ira’s footsteps as she came into the kitchen. Her arms wrapped around me, and I set the pan back down, relinquishing myself to the warm feeling of her embrace.

“I figured I’d let you sleep after we talked,” I said.

“I’m sorry I cried so much,” Ira said.

I turned around in her arms, cupping her face with my hand.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. These past six weeks have been rough for you,” I said.

“They’ve been rough for both of us. I know losing my father and burying him conjured up very recent wounds you experienced when burying your parents,” she said.

“Which is why we’re getting through this together.”

She sniffed the air. “Something smells very good in here.”

“I figured it was a steak and potatoes kind of night. I know the pickings have been slim over the past few days.”

“I haven’t really been hungry, to tell you the truth,” she said.

“I told you that I can manage the restaurant until you come back. It isn’t an issue. I don’t want you spread too thin with grieving and being the manager.”

“But working helps to get my mind off things. Thank you for not making me take mandatory leave,” she said.

“As your boss, you’re welcome.”

“As my boyfriend?”

I grinned. I’d never get tired of hearing that word come from her mouth when she talked about me.

“As your boyfriend, I think your boss is a slave driver and that you could use a break,” I said.

“Then, let’s plate up some food and put on a movie,” Ira said, smiling.

I pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, then patted her behind as she walked away from me. After her father’s burial, she’d found it hard to go home. She ended up on my porch at two in the morning on more than one occasion, with tears streaming down her face, clothes in hand so she could stay the night. At first, I put her in the guest bedroom, until I heard her crying herself to sleep at night. Then, I put her in my bedroom so she didn’t have to cry alone.

Over the past six weeks, she sort of made a home there. A home at my side at night. She came and went from my house. We drove to work together in the mornings. We sat on the couch in the living room at night after the restaurant was locked up and filled our stomachs together.

It was very domestic. And it did help me grieve the life my parents lost so suddenly.

“Steak and potatoes for the beautiful woman on the couch, and a soda to complement,” I said.

“I’ll have to thank the chef for this lovely meal,” she said, smiling.

“I’m sure the chef has many scenarios in mind.”

She giggled as I sat down next to her.

“So, one quick work thing,” I said.

“Clay.” Ira groaned.

“Just one. We hit our first financial goal and I was able to pay off the first of our three loans my parents had on the restaurant.”

“Wait, really? Like, today? Before we came home?” she asked.

We came home. Those three words struck me so hard in my gut that it took me a second to catch my breath.

“Yes. And it was the largest loan, too. That one was sinking the restaurant, and I was able to unload it. So, that puts us in a really good place to make some of those additions we were talking about,” I said.

“I’m still not sure how a town this small and this conservative will do with a wet bar in their family dining restaurant,” Ira said.

“Which is why I thought I’d start out with only beer and wine. We can do some nice selections, and if it goes over well, we could slowly introduce spirits and fine liquors.”

“That could work. Are we going to start the weekend events here soon?”

“I figured once we got the liquor license going and had some drinks for those events, that they’d go over better with the community,” I said.

“Sounds good to me, boss,” she said, grinning.

We clinked our sodas together before I watched her draw in a deep breath.

“They’d be really proud of you, you know,” Ira said.

I smiled at her words.

“I know. Your father would be proud of you, too,” I said.

“I know,” she said softly.

I took a sip of my drink and watched her cut into her steak. She chewed it and swallowed, humming over it and praising it. I watched her, ignoring my food as the television rolled in the background with A League of Their Own, one of her favorite movies.

“What?” Ira asked.

Her voice ripped me from my trance, and I chuckled. She had a bit of steak juice dripping down her chin. I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb, then wiped it on my jeans.

“I love you,” I said.

I watched her face fall and her eyes widen.

“You… what?” Ira asked.

“I love you. You know that, right?” I asked.

A soft smile crossed her lips before she nodded.

“I do. Do you know I love you, too?” she asked.

I smiled brightly. “I do now.”

I set my untouched plate off to the side, and she mimicked my movements. I moved the pillows between us and put the sodas in a safe space. I wasn’t hungry for steak. Or potatoes. Or thirsty for a soda. I was hungry for the woman I loved. Thirsty for her touch.

“I love you so much,” I whispered.

And she met my bold statement with a fiery kiss, her hands cupping my cheeks and her legs spread for me to settle between.