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They're hugging in the kitchen, rocking back and forth, when Tommy pulls away from Maria, a sneaky smile on his face as his hands slide up to her shoulders. She sighs and rolls her eyes, already knows what's coming.
Tommy's hands squeeze her shoulders, and he mimics a deep, bad New York accent. "Remember, you are, my number one, GUY." She laughs and pushes him away gently, he goes cackling.
"Get out of here, you idiot." She says, pulling him in for a kiss, a smile on her lips, "Love you."
"You too, darlin'." He drawls, before pulling away and sauntering out the door, a final, "Number one, GUY," thrown over his shoulder.
"Idiot." She mumbles, grinning, turning back to the food waiting to be put away.
She makes him an apple crumble for Thanksgiving because she knows he's not a big fan of the pie.
He grabs the pine soap she likes at the swap whenever Lauren makes a new batch.
She leaves his favorite socks on top of his dresser whenever they're clean.
He cleans the tub every time, even though they rotate every other chore, because he knows how much the grout creeps her out.
She grows tomatoes because she knows he loves them.
He grows cucumbers because he knows she loves them.
She puts his boots by the fire in the wintertime because she knows how much he hates putting on still-wet boots.
He lets her run her feet over his hamstrings in bed at night because he knows it soothes her.
They sit on the couch, her feet in his lap as she reads, locs gathered on top of her head, a silk scarf tied around them.
His eyes are on the television as he brings her foot to his mouth and kisses her big toe.
"Tommy Miller." She warns.
"What?" He asks, gaze still on the TV, as he kisses her arch.
"You know what."
"I don't." He smirks, finally looking over at her, a twinkle in his eye.
"Don't you dare."
"I ain't doin' nothin'." He croons, kissing her pinkie toe.
"Ah-huh." She says, lifts a brow.
"Alright," He says and puts her foot back down in his lap, fingers gently stroking the top.
She waits for a moment, eyes scanning her page as the sound from the TV fills the room, then sighs and says. "Go ahead then."
He grins like it's the best day of his life and proceeds to nibble and bite at her toes and arch. She puts up with this for a few seconds, finally smiling, she pushes at him with her other foot. "Alright enough."
Laughing, he lets her go, "Thanks, hon."
Going back to her book, "No problem, babe."
Tommy's at the grill, tongs in hand, hair in a low bun at the back of his head, chewing a little at his mustache.
"I got the meat for you, sir," Maria says regally, handing him the platter with a flourish.
"Ah, yes, the meat, thank you, ma'am. Mighty kind of you to bring it out here for me."
"Not a problem, sir, it was my pleasure." She bows, and he laughs, giving her a bow in return.
He starts placing the meat on the grill, "Porka-the choppa." He intones.
"Choppa-the porka." She responds.
They say together, smiling, "Porka-the choppa, Choppa-the porka."
"Going in to get those vegetables in the oven." She says, kissing his cheek.
Clacking the tongs at her as she moves away, he calls, "I'll be out here. Holdin' this grill down."
"And doing a fine job of it, too, cowboy." She laughs.
They're in bed, light low, baby asleep in the other room. She's spooned up behind him, the air warm and close around them. He's drifting as she hums some song in his ear, low, he can't catch what it is, but it's enough to send him off into sleep, cradled, safe.