Archive of Our Own

Tim doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous in his life.

He’s been shot at, and stabbed, and caught in airstrikes, and almost burned alive in a wildfire, but he’s never felt more like his heart is going to escape his ribcage than today.

They’re T-minus two hours until Aunt Amy knocks on their front door.

This is the first time Tim’s meeting anyone from Lucy’s family—she doesn’t have any siblings, and she’s not on speaking terms with her parents. In some twisted way, though, he’d almost prefer it if they were the ones coming. It’s a given that they’re never going to accept him—he’s everything they hate wrapped up in a person—and knowing the futility of the task would take the pressure off trying to make any kind of good impression.

Aunt Amy, on the other hand? She’s pretty much the most stable parental figure in Lucy’s life. Lucy adores her aunt, and her aunt adores her right back with equal fervour.

If today doesn’t go well, there’s a chance that Lucy leaves him.

Okay—he might be spiralling a little too far; he doesn’t know the extent to which that’s actually a possibility. Regardless, the pressure’s on to make sure today is perfect. Especially since he’s cooking.

Tim had suggested it as an easy enough way for him to make a good first impression, but he hadn’t really considered the implications for his stress levels. To take some of the pressure off deciding what to cook, Lucy had requested he make one of her favourites—oven-baked seabass with his homemade tomato sauce and broccolini, one of his go-to date night dishes.

“Aunt Amy loves seafood,” she’d told him. “When I was a kid, she went on a road-trip along the west coast to try all the best seafood restaurants she could find.”

So no pressure, really.

He’s a Watch Commander in the LAPD. He faces gunfire and violent criminals on a weekly basis. Tim knows how to handle stressful situations, and he’s completely relaxed right now, even if he’s eyeing a sheet-pan of fish fillets like he’s figuring out which wire to cut on an explosive device.

“Should I have made them smaller?” he asks Lucy, hearing her footsteps come up behind him.

She just laughs, which Tim takes as a yes. Great.

He huffs out a ragged exhale. “Okay. I can fix it, it’s—”

“Tim. They look perfect,” Lucy interjects, giggling as she places a hand on his arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous.”

“This woman is more important to you than your parents.”

Lucy frowns, raising an eyebrow. “Not exactly the highest bar in the world, but that’s not the point. You don’t have anything to worry about, Tim. She’s going to love you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, unable to buy her reassurances. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, Lucy presses her cheek to his back, and Tim tries his best to relax into her hold. “And can I just remind you that I got zero notice when your mom showed up at our door.”

“That’s different—so did I. We weren’t exactly close,” Tim argues. He’s grateful that’s changed, now. “And anyway, Mom was always going to love you—it’s you.”

A small noise comes from the back of Lucy’s throat, and she presses a kiss to the curve of his shoulder blade through his t-shirt. “And this is you.”

“Exactly,” Tim huffs, looking around at everything he still needs to get done. “I’m not really known for making good first impressions.”

Which is why he’s determined to do everything he can to make this one work out.

The tomato sauce has already been simmering for an hour, and he doesn’t think he’s stirred it in a bit. He also needs to prepare the broccolini, and zest some lemons, and did he remember to add black pepper to the fish?

God, he needs to tidy up in here. Tim likes to think he’s a pretty organised cook, cleaning as he goes where he can, but their kitchen currently looks like a raccoon raided their cupboards, organisation falling to the wayside as he’d obsessed over the balance of seasonings in the marinade.

“At work, maybe,” Lucy says. “This is different.”

Tim’s blows out a sigh, glancing up at the clock. “If you say so.”

Knowing he needs to focus, he resigns himself to stepping out of Lucy’s hold, and misses the comfort of her arms immediately.

She can definitely read the stress in his eyes. “Can I help with anything?”

He shakes his head while his eyes dart around, because where did he put the oven gloves?

“No, I’m all good here. I’ve got it, Luce.” Does he? “You go get ready.”

As she leaves the kitchen, Lucy pulls the oven gloves from where he’d hooked them over a drawer handle earlier, placing them on the counter in front of him. He thanks her with a kiss.

Finally convincing himself that too-big fillets are better than too small, Tim moves the seabass to one side, leaving it to marinate so it’s ready for the oven later on.

As he’s taking the broccolini from the fridge to start preparing it, he spots something on the dining table out the corner of his eye. Upon closer inspection, it’s an empty envelope from this morning’s mail, and he moves to throw it in the trash, but not before centring the vase of flowers next to it. Passing by the couch, the cushions are askew, and when he straightens those, he spots the strands of dog hair on the floor.

He winds up running the vacuum through the whole room, just in case he missed any spots, and that turns out to be a mistake. Everywhere he looks, there are tiny imperfections he has to fix.

Tim straightens picture frames, and wipes the back door clean of Kojo’s nose smudges, and dusts the bookshelves, all too aware that Lucy’s aunt is going to be judging this house, too. This was his home first, the place he invited her niece to live in with him, and he knows the woman is going to be analysing the space he’s curated.

He’s about to dust the artwork on the wall, too, when he stares at it for a second too long. Is it too abstract? It’s some piece he’d picked up at a garage sale years ago after Angela told him that his bare walls were depressing, but he’s grown fond of it. But it’s not about what he thinks, right now—Lucy’s aunt has travelled the world, has probably seen every gallery there is. What if she hates it, or thinks it’s tacky? What if—?

He’s halfway to taking it down and stashing it in the garage when he catches himself.

It’s a painting. It’s fine. He needs to pull himself together a little.

Forcing himself to take a slow breath, Tim glances back towards the kitchen, the broccolini he hasn’t prepped still laying out on the chopping board. Shit, the food—

As Aunt Amy’s arrival ticks ever closer, Tim finishes preparing dinner and changes into a nice shirt. He only manages to try on three different colours—finding something wrong with all of them—before Lucy comes in, tells him he looks perfect, and practically manhandles him back into the main room so they can set the table.

While she lays out three serviettes and sets of cutlery, Tim sets down the plates, crouching down to make sure they’re centred on the placemats. He pretends not to notice Lucy smiling at him.

He also retrieves the wine glasses from the cupboard. He’d talked with the sommelier for twenty minutes the other day, trying to get the perfect pairing for his seabass. The man had pretty much played a game of twenty questions, asking about the side dishes and the guests and the ambience, and Tim has never felt so ridiculous in his life—it’s wine, the differences from bottle to bottle have always been negligible to him—but he’d forced himself to endure the crazy, because he needed to get this right.

They’d eventually settled on a moderately priced 2021 French white wine—apparently it’s important that it’s unoaked, whatever that means. Tim doesn’t know shit about wine or wine pairings, and neither does Lucy, but she’d commented that the bottle looked pretty, so… he hopes it’s the right fit.

Clearly sensing that his thoughts are spinning again, Lucy stops in front of him after he’s set the glasses down, running her hands down his arms. Gripping his elbows, she takes an exaggerated inhale, clearly wanting him to follow her lead.

He does so begrudgingly, only feeling a little better. Lucy smiles all the same, satisfied, before settling her hands on his waist and leaning up to kiss him.

“She’s going to love you,” she repeats, placing her hand on his cheek.

This time, Tim doesn’t even get to pretend he’s reassured by that, because the sound he’s been anticipating for hours echoes through the house—the knock on the door.

A sharp spike of anxiety bolts through him, and as he tenses, Lucy gives him one last kiss for good measure.

“Showtime,” she grins, pulling away.

After taking a second to centre himself, Tim follows her, standing at her shoulder as she opens the door to a smiling woman he’s only ever seen in photos. She looks even more like Lucy in person.

“Aunt Amy!” Lucy exclaims, throwing out her arms and pulling the woman in for a hug.

“Lucy!” she responds, the syllables bright with affection as she holds her niece just as tight.

When they pull apart with beaming smiles, Aunt Amy’s gaze lands on Tim, their eyes meeting over Lucy’s shoulder. “And this must be Tim.”

“Yes, yes.” Lucy moves to one side so he can step forward, and she gestures between them. “Aunt Amy, this is Tim; Tim, this is Aunt Amy.”

“It’s great to meet you—” Tim is cut off by Lucy’s aunt pulling him into a hug.

Caught off guard, he freezes for a split second.

“Lucy’s told me so much about you,” she says, and Tim doesn’t doubt it. He knows not all of it will have been good, though.

“I’m sure she has,” he laughs politely as she pulls away. “Can I take your coat?”

Aunt Amy’s eyebrows raise minutely—she almost looks surprised at the offer. “You can, thank you.”

As Tim goes to hang her coat on their hook, Aunt Amy leans in towards Lucy.

“Chivalrous,” she stage-whispers. “Good start.”

Oh, God.

But then she giggles, her laugh carrying a similar melody to Lucy’s, and he realises she’s messing with him. Lucy pats her aunt’s arm, scolding.

“Stop it,” she laughs. “He’s already nervous enough.”

Tim catches Aunt Amy’s eye as he turns back, and she smirks at him. “Good.”

With a good-natured eye roll and a tut, Lucy invites her aunt to take a seat on the couch. Tim casts one last look at the cushions, hoping they’re centred enough. In any case, it’s too late to fix now.

“Can we get you a drink?” he asks as Aunt Amy settles, needing something to do.

“Some water would be great, thank you.”

Tim nods, placing a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Luce?”

“I’m good for now, thank you babe.”

As he pours Aunt Amy’s glass of water, he watches her from the corner of his eye. She’s eyeing the artwork on the walls, the photos on their shelves, and—oh, crap, he didn’t move Kojo’s toy basket from by the back door.

To his relief, Aunt Amy’s gaze drifts right past it.

“This is a lovely place,” she smiles, leaning into the couch cushions. “So warm. It has a lot of personality.”

Tim feels his shoulders relax a little.

“Doesn’t it?” Lucy beams. “I feel like it really represents us.”

Tim couldn’t agree more. He’s never loved this house more than when Lucy started living in it. As soon as they unpacked her boxes, it started to feel like a home for the first time, bright and put together and completely whole, all her puzzle pieces slotting into place.

“And something smells amazing,” Aunt Amy adds on.

“That’s dinner,” Lucy smiles. “Tim’s making seabass.”

Aunt Amy lets out a gasp. “My favourite!”

Tim freezes.

Her what?

Lucy had mentioned her aunt loved seafood, of course, but she’d failed to mention he was making her favourite. The revelation adds a whole new layer of panic to the evening, and Lucy clearly senses it because she glances his way, mirth shining in her eyes.

“You’ll love it,” she promises, and even though she’s talking to her aunt, her eyes are on Tim as he walks over with the glass of water. “Tim is the best cook.”

He needs Lucy to stop overpromising. At this rate, he’s going to underdeliver, and the thought is doing nothing for his stress levels.

“So I’ve heard,” Aunt Amy says, nodding her thanks when Tim hands her the glass. “I’m excited to judge for myself.”

He gives her a nervous smile, hoping his panic doesn’t bleed through. “Well, it should be ready in ten.”

“Amazing.”

Heading back into the kitchen, Tim triple checks everything. The fish isn’t burning, the sauce is simmering, and the broccolini is prepped for him to sauté—after he tests the sauce first.

He dips a spoon into the tomato sauce he’s perfected over the years. But when he tries it, something tastes different. It’s missing something.

He shakes in a few more chilli pepper flakes, tasting it again. Better, but…

“Luce?” When she looks up at him, he waves her over, holding up a spoon. “Could you—?”

“Of course.”

Tasting the sauce, Lucy lets out an appreciative hum. “Perfect.”

But she always says that, and Tim’s eyes narrow as he sets the spoon down.

“You sure?” he asks. “We ran out of fresh basil, so I had to use dried, but I don’t—”

“Babe,” Lucy interjects, lips curving into a smile as she puts a hand on his arm, leaning in. “It’s amazing, I promise.”

There’s a beat of silence as they just stand there, and for a moment Tim swears they’re the only two people in the world, all soft smiles and trust and gratitude.

“Now,” Lucy continues eventually, lowering her voice to a murmur as she moves to grab the bottle of white wine from the fridge. “Quit overthinking it so she doesn’t see you sweat.”

His eyes widen as the stress crawls up his spine, and she grins.

“I’m kidding.”

He knew that.

He tuts at her as she giggles and leaves the kitchen, presenting her aunt with the wine they’re having with dinner. Meanwhile, he gets to work sautéing the broccolini, flavouring it with lemon juice and zest and olive oil, before pulling the fish from the oven and switching the sauce off, giving it one more stir for good measure.

Taking a final look around the kitchen, Tim eyes every countertop and corner until he’s satisfied he hasn’t missed a single thing.

“Alright,” he calls out. “Dinner’s ready.”

Lucy gives a joyful clap as she stands, and pulls back Aunt Amy’s chair at the head of the table.

“Thank you, my angel,” the woman says, taking her seat. Tim doesn’t miss how her eyes track his movements as he takes the bottle from Lucy and pours her a glass of wine. “I must say, the service here is impeccable.”

“You deserve nothing less,” Lucy says.

Of course, Tim moves to pull out Lucy’s chair, too, and she giggles as she sits down. “Thank you.”

Moving back to the kitchen, Tim plates all three portions identically. He didn’t mention it to Lucy, but a couple nights ago he spent an hour looking at plating techniques online. Frankly, he doesn’t know what the stress and anticipation of today has done to him—he’s never considered plating techniques in his life.

He sets the first plate down in front of Aunt Amy, forcing himself to release the breath he’s holding.

“Wow,” she says, giving a nod of approval. “This looks beautiful; thank you.”

“Enjoy,” he smiles, setting down his and Lucy’s plates too before taking his seat.

Aunt Amy picks up her fork, and here it is—the moment of truth. Tim tries not to make his staring too obvious, taking a large sip of his wine. It’s good wine. Maybe those ridiculous questions were worth something, after all.

By the time he’s set his glass back down, Aunt Amy is nodding, and Tim feels himself relax.

“This is perfect,” she says. Perfect—God, she really is Lucy’s copy. “I already need the recipe for that sauce.”

Tim chuckles, relieved. “Thank you; I’ll write it down for you.”

With the corners of his anxiety finally rounding out at the praise, he takes a bite of his own food, and even he can admit that he’s outdone himself. Thank God.

The room fills with nothing but clinking cutlery for a minute or two, the three of them enjoying the food in comfortable silence. Tim really doesn’t know what today is doing to him, but he’s the one to open up the floor for small talk.

“Lucy was telling me about your road-trip along the west coast,” he says.

Aunt Amy smiles. “That was back when I was a lot younger, yes. I quit my job, spent a couple months driving the length of the coast. I wanted to try everything I could get my hands on.”

Tim nods. “It sounds amazing.”

“It was. A lot of effort, but worthwhile.”

“Tim and I might need to pick your brains at some point,” Lucy chimes in. “We were thinking about taking a road-trip of our own.”

“Not quite length of the west coast,” Tim clarifies. “We were thinking of heading up towards the Rockies if we can get the time off work in the fall.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Aunt Amy says. “From the sounds of it, you both deserve the break.”

Lucy nods emphatically, taking a sip of her wine. “We need one.”

With another smile that glows with pride, Aunt Amy gestures her fork between the two of them. “Patrol Sergeant and Watch Commander. One hell of a couple.”

“Don’t we know it,” Lucy preens, meeting Tim’s eyes and nudging his leg with her foot under the table.

Tim smiles. “Our lives are never boring, that’s for sure.”

They make more idle chatter as they eat. Lucy tells her aunt about work, including a particularly strange call she’d supervised last week, and Tim adds his commentary where necessary. Aunt Amy tells them about the volleyball class she’s joined, and a new brand of green tea one of the women there recommended to her—Tim makes a mental note of it so he can pick some up for Lucy to try. He knows she’s gotten many of her favourite teas via recommendations from her aunt over the years, and the serenity on her face when she has a warm mug in her hands is worth the cupboard space every box of tea takes up.

As the meal passes without a hitch, Tim manages to let himself almost fully relax into the evening.

They’re just finishing up, cutlery scraping against their plates, when Lucy’s phone rings from the coffee table.

“Shit,” she says, pushing her chair back. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

When she crosses the room and glances at her phone, she picks it up instantly.

“Hey Tamara, is everything okay?” There’s a brief pause, before Lucy turns and heads down the hall. “Okay, okay, hang on a sec—”

She shuts their bedroom door behind her—a clear signal for Tim to not follow her. So, he’s left alone with Aunt Amy.

“I hope everything’s okay,” the woman says.

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a minute, Tim taking a sip of his wine just to fill the emptiness as Aunt Amy takes her last bite.

“That was amazing,” she says, setting her cutlery down. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

As the room falls silent again, Aunt Amy just… watches him for a second. Tim’s skin prickles under the scrutiny.

“You and Lucy have known each other a long time,” she says eventually.

Tim smiles. “Yeah, we have.”

“You know, she always used to complain about you when you were her training officer.”

Feeling himself tense, Tim forces a smile. “I’m aware. I try and give my rookies a different perspective on the world,” he explains. “If you get too complacent or too comfortable, that’s when people get hurt. There are reasons for my methods, even if they’re not the most popular.”

“You set off a powder bomb in her face.”

Despite himself, Tim barks out a laugh, his cheeks flushing. “She got me back with her own the minute she graduated the FTO programme.”

The corner of Aunt Amy’s mouth lifts. “Good.”

He can’t help his smile at the memory, even if his earlier nerves are creeping back up on him.

“Do you love her?”

The conversation turns the corner so sharply that Tim gets whiplash. It’s a good thing it’s the easiest question she could’ve asked him.

“More than anything in the world.”

Aunt Amy’s eyes narrow analytically. “You broke her heart.”

Tim exhales heavily. He should’ve figured she’d bring that up—she has every right to. “I know,” he says. “That choice had nothing to do with her.”

“It still hurt her, though.”

His heart sinks at the thought of the agonised look in Lucy’s eyes, the raw pain that had taken weeks to fade. The guilt almost swallowed him whole, some days.

“I know. But I also know that we’re all the stronger for it now.”

The woman across from him doesn’t miss a beat, leaning in and clasping her hands together. “Are you saying you’re glad you did it?”

It feels like a trick question. He takes a second to organise his thoughts into something coherent, leaning back in his chair. All he needs to tell Aunt Amy is the truth, and he’s not afraid of that anymore. He has no reason to be.

“I’m not glad I hurt her,” he asserts, shaking his head. “I would—God, I would do anything to take that pain back if I could. But I’d be lying if I said that losing her wasn’t the push I needed to take the steps to become better, to become the kind of man that she deserves.”

This is strangely easy, he thinks, opening up to a women he’s meeting for the first time. Maybe it’s something to do with the way Aunt Amy exudes the same soft energy that Lucy does; even as she’s drilling him, Tim just gets this sense that she wants to listen to what he has to say.

“I see,” the older woman says. She keeps her tone level, giving nothing away. “And then when you asked her to get back together, you asked her to move in, here.”

Tim nods. “I knew we were ready for that step. I—I love Lucy more than I thought was possible. Life with her is everything, and I didn’t want to waste another moment.”

At that, the corners of Aunt Amy’s lips lift again. “My niece is a brilliant woman.”

“The best I’ve ever known.”

“And don’t get me wrong, Tim. All of this is beautiful.” Aunt Amy gestures vaguely at her empty plate, her almost-empty glass of wine, their surroundings. “The wine, the food, your home… it’s all wonderful. But the most important thing to me is that you know what you have in that woman.”

Tim’s heart warms.

Lucy’s talked a lot about how unsupportive her parents are, how cold and dismissive they are, how they’ve never once shied away from expressing their disappointment in the path she’s taken, and he’s just so glad to see that someone in her family knows how amazing she is.

“Trust me, I do,” he says. He thinks he’s finished, but the words keep spilling out. “That—that was part of why I did what I did. I knew how amazing Lucy was, I always have, and I was convinced that I’d never deserve it; that she deserved someone who did.”

Aunt Amy’s expression remains neutral.

“But then I lost her, and I realised I didn’t want to be without her. So I worked to become the kind of person worthy of that light.” He can’t help the smile that forms as he thinks about her. The love of his life. “Lucy is special, and since day one I’ve seen so many sides of her. Her empathy, her fierceness, her kindness, her humour, her light. I know you know all this already—”

He cuts himself off with a laugh, and the woman across from him smiles.

“Lucy… she makes me want to be better,” he continues. “She always has. Even before I let myself admit that I loved her, I knew she was special like no one I’d ever met. And she keeps proving that to me in new ways every single day. Receiving her love is a—a gift, and everyday I strive to be worthy of it.”

The silence settles in the wake of his unexpected outpouring of love, and Tim feels oddly raw, like maybe he’s shared too much of himself. It’s a few weighted moments before he can bring himself to look up.

When he does, Aunt Amy’s eyes are shining in the warm light. Tim starts to panic, but she places a hand on his arm.

“Good answer.”

He exhales with a breathy laugh, having forgotten he was being tested.

As if on cue, the bedroom door opens and Lucy comes back to the dining table. After quickly dabbing at her eyes with a serviette, Aunt Amy takes a sip of her wine, smiling at her niece as she takes her seat.

“Sorry about that.”

“Everything okay?” Tim asks.

Lucy nods. “Fine; Tamara just needed help with something.”

Tim’s eyes narrow slightly, because that’s vague. Too vague.

But he drops it for now, standing to clear their plates.

“You guys okay?” Lucy asks, her eyes darting between them.

Tim nods, and he catches Aunt Amy’s small smile as he takes their plates into the kitchen.

“We’re great,” she responds.

Lucy made a lemon tart for dessert, and the three of them enjoy it over more light conversation, neither Tim nor Aunt Amy bringing up the conversation they’d had in Lucy’s absence—even when they move to the couch, enjoying a little more wine as they continue to talk.

All too soon, though, the sun has long disappeared below the horizon, and Aunt Amy calls her Uber to head home.

“It was so lovely to see you again, Lucy. Next time, we’re not leaving it this long,” the woman murmurs into their hug.

“Agreed,” Lucy says. “Thank you for coming.”

It’s Tim’s turn next, of course.

“Thank you for the wonderful food,” she says, pulling him in. “I’ll be using that sauce recipe next time the ladies are over.”

Tim laughs. “I’m glad to be of service.”

Squeezing him a little tighter, Aunt Amy lowers her voice to a whisper. “You’re a good man, Tim. Thank you for being the kind of man she deserves.”

A strangled sound comes from Tim’s throat as he freezes. He swallows the lump that forms, the right words refusing to take shape as Aunt Amy pulls away with a knowing smile, patting his arm.

“Thank you,” he eventually manages to scrape out, clearing his throat. “It was so lovely to finally meet you. You definitely live up to all of Lucy’s stories.”

Aunt Amy laughs. “I’m glad.”

The sound of tyres pulling into their driveway catches their attention.

“That’ll be my car,” she says, pulling Lucy in for one last hug and waving them both goodbye.

They watch the car pull out of the driveway until it’s out of view, and Lucy turns to him the second she shuts the door, a smile on her face. She steps closer, settling her head against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her.

“See?” she says. “Didn’t that go well?”

To the surprise of past-Tim, he has to agree. “She’s a lovely woman. I can see where you get it from.”

She giggles, and it sends warmth through his chest. “It’s genetic.”

“Mhm.”

He couldn’t have asked for the evening to go much better. Although, there is one thing that’s been bothering him for a couple of hours.

“Tamara didn’t need help with anything, did she?”

Lucy freezes against him. It’s only for a split second, but it’s enough.

“Of course she did.” Her face contradicts her words, her mouth tilting into a small grin she can’t quite hide, burying it against his chest.

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah,” Lucy says, nonchalant, placing a hand on his chest and looking up at him. “But, uh… what did you guys talk about while I was gone?”

His eyes narrow, but he gives in, swaying them side to side. “You, mostly.”

“Good things?”

For a half-second, he thinks about making a joke, but finds he can’t be anything but honest. “Of course,” he says. “She cares a lot about you.”

Lucy’s eyes soften—she’d clearly been expecting a joke, too—and she nods. “She was basically a second mom to me,” she says. “Felt like my actual mom, at times. I knew I always had someone to go to when I needed her.”

Tim smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and Lucy places her head back against his chest.

“And now, I have two of those people,” she murmurs.

This time, Tim can’t resist the joke. “Hm? Who’s the other?”

As he grins, Lucy slaps at his chest lightly, mouth agape, and he just pulls her in tighter.

She blows out a content exhale. “She really liked you.”

Even with the woman’s kind parting words, it’s nice to know that Lucy thinks so, too. “You think?”

“I do. You had nothing to worry about.”

Tim frowns at that, eyebrows drawing together. “I think my worrying was justified.”

“Well, I don’t,” Lucy says. “I love you, so of course Aunt Amy was going to love you, too.”

“I could’ve overcooked the fish,” he argues.

Lucy lifts her head from his chest. “But you didn’t.”

“Could’ve burned the sauce.” Is he being annoying on purpose? Maybe.

“Again,” Lucy says through an exasperated laugh, “you didn’t.”

“The broccolini could’ve been mouldy,”

“Tim, don’t be—”

“The wine could’ve been awful—”

This time, Lucy shuts him up with a kiss.

“Be quiet,” she giggles against his mouth.

He hums, tasting sugary citrus and white wine on her lips. “Gladly.”