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Emma wakes up to the smell of cinnamon and the sound of faint laughter from downstairs. It’s a good smell, a good sound. Familiar, now, and it’s still strange even after all these years, to wake up with a smile already stretching across her face, knowing who’s downstairs and knowing she gets to join them.
She stretches, wincing as her joints pop slightly, and shivers as she steps onto the floor to put on her robe. It’s only September, but then again, it’s Maine - she grabs her slippers on the way out the door, a gift from Regina for her birthday last year.
She debates pretending to sneak in, but they’re both sure to have heard her come down, so she walks casually around the corner instead. And god , there will never be a time when it’s not the most right thing she’s ever seen, Regina smiling down at their beautiful, beautiful granddaughter. There’s a feeling that climbed into her chest the first time she saw Regina hold Lucy and refused to leave, something squeezing tight and building into the back of her throat.
“Hi,” she says, voice rasping a little, and she meets Regina’s eyes, holds them. Look at what we built. Look how far we came .
“Grams!” shouts Lucy, smiling so wide Emma’s surprised a beam of sunlight isn’t shooting out of her mouth. “We’re making cookies.”
“Are you?” Emma says innocently, reaching for a spoon. Regina fixes her with a look-with-a-capital L, but they both know it’s for Lucy’s benefit, and Emma reaches over and scoops out a bite of raw batter, humming in approval as she tastes it. “Oh, that’s good ,” she says, slightly muffled. Lucy giggles. Regina shakes her head.
“Your grams does this every time and still thinks she’s fooling us,” she loud-whispers to Lucy, who giggles harder. “To the loading station with you,” and she pokes Emma with a flour-dusted finger.
Emma sneaks a kiss to her cheek as she passes. “Yeah, yeah.” She starts loading the balls of dough onto the tray with Lucy’s help.
“Lucy was just telling me about her new teachers,” says Regina as she makes sure the oven’s heated.
“Ooh, any good ones? Anyone I need to send in to have a talk with Regina?” Emma asks, and yep - Lucy is still firmly in the eye rolling stage. The kid also thinks Regina’s about as threatening as a kitten, which - fair, considering Regina can literally deny her nothing and is currently standing in the kitchen with flour on her nose and an apron that says I Love My Moms under a giant pink heart (Henry’s present the year after they’d finally moved in together).
“I think I can handle it,” Lucy says. “My math teacher’s pretty cool, though. Mom likes her a lot.”
“Good,” says Regina, visibly relieved. “You know not to ask your father for math help, right?”
Lucy smirks. “Yeah, Abue, I have Mom and Grams. Besides,” she shifts and tries to hide her proud smile, “she put me in the honors class.”
“Corazón,” Regina breathes, abandoning the cookies for a moment to sweep her into a hug. “That’s wonderful .”
“We’re so proud of you,” says Emma, wrapping her arms around them both, gloriously warm and happy and home .
“It’s not a big deal,” Lucy says, but she stays a beat longer in the circle of their arms before wriggling out. “Anyways, the trays are ready.”
“It’s a very big deal,” Emma tells her as she slides them into the oven. “This definitely deserves a cookies and ice cream movie event.”
Lucy pauses. “Mint chip?”
“Of course,” says Regina, her eyes soft. “Of course.”
-
That’s how Henry will find them, later - Emma and Regina bracketing their granddaughter on the couch, three bowls of ice cream and a mountain of cookies on the table in front of them. There’s some subversive princess movie that Lucy’s been really into lately on the TV, and Emma’s just watching the two of them, the afternoon sunlight playing on their hair, Lucy’s head resting lightly on Regina’s shoulder. The chest feeling is back now, stronger. Emma lets her hand thread through Regina’s behind Lucy’s back, squeezes once.
“You all look like you had fun,” their son says, poking his head through the door, and there’s something about the domesticity of the moment that makes Emma’s breath catch, which - it’s not like the rest of the day hasn’t been ridiculously domestic, but it’s her son picking up his daughter from the house she shares with her wife and just, god, sometimes she still can’t believe how lucky she got, sometimes she still can’t believe she’ll get to do this every weekend, that her joints will creak and Regina will get grey hairs and they’ll have endless time to marvel that they get to grow old together (that they get to grow old at all), to watch their family grow around them-
“Always,” she says to Henry, and her hand tightens in Regina’s once more.