The cab door clicked open, and a gust of cool evening air swept against Ariel’s face, bringing with it the salt of Puget Sound and the faint hum of traffic below. Her heart was a trapped bird in her chest, fluttering madly as she stepped out onto the curb. The driver offered a polite nod before pulling away, but she barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the soft golden light spilling from the lobby windows of their apartment building.

  Her gloved hands clutched the lapels of her coat tightly, fingers digging into the thick fabric. The long beige wool wrapped her like a secret. Beneath it was the surprise—something she had planned for weeks, agonized over in quiet late-night hours while Holly slept. The thought of what lay under the coat sent a jolt of nervous electricity through her.

  “Okay,” she murmured to herself, breath visible in the cool air. “You can do this. It’s just Holly. It’s your wife.” Her voice was soft and quick, half-scolding, half-soothing. She adjusted the belt of the coat, then immediately retightened it, as though the motion itself could tether her shaking hands. “She’s going to love it. Or laugh. Maybe both. Probably both.”

  Her boots clicked softly against the pavement as she started toward the front doors. Every step seemed louder than it should be. She imagined, absurdly, that someone might see through her, that the world would somehow know what she was hiding beneath her coat—how her heart was hammering, how her stomach was twisting in excitement and anxiety.

  She caught her reflection in the glass door before entering the lobby. Her red hair, slightly frizzy from the misty weather, peeked out from her scarf; her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and from her nerves. She bit her lip, tugged the scarf a little tighter, and gave herself a fleeting grin. “You look like a spy,” she whispered. “A very anxious spy.”

  The elevator ride felt impossibly long. Each floor’s chime echoed in her chest like a countdown. Her thoughts wandered—how Holly had left that morning with a kiss pressed to her temple, humming something under her breath about needing to grab a few last-minute things after work. How Ariel had barely slept last night, pacing the apartment while rehearsing what she’d say when she revealed the surprise. How this first anniversary felt heavier, fuller, richer than she could have imagined a year ago.

  As the elevator dinged at their floor, she drew a deep breath and whispered, “Happy anniversary, Red.” Then she corrected herself with a quiet laugh. “No, that’s her line.”

  The hallway stretched ahead of her, softly lit and still. The scent of someone’s dinner drifted faintly through the air—garlic, maybe rosemary—and it felt strangely comforting. She passed the familiar scuff mark on the baseboard near the corner, the one Holly had made carrying in their first bookshelf. The little memories crowded around her with every step, wrapping around her nerves like warmth.

  By the time she reached their door, her palms were sweating inside her gloves. She took one more breath, steadying herself. “Okay. Showtime.” Her voice trembled, a mixture of excitement and fear. “Please don’t freak out, Hols. Please love it.”

  She stood there for another long moment, just breathing, her hand hovering near the key. Behind that door was her world—her wife, her home, her heart—and she was about to turn their first anniversary into a memory neither of them would ever forget.

  Then, with a faint exhale that was half a laugh and half a prayer, Ariel slipped the key into the lock and turned it.

  The warmth hit her first. The soft, glowing light of the apartment spilled into the hallway, wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. The moment she stepped inside, a rich aroma filled her senses—savory and sweet, heavy with butter and garlic and something else she couldn’t quite place. Her stomach rumbled in response, betraying her immediately.

  “Always trying to put me in a food coma,” Ariel muttered under her breath, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips. “Well, bring it on.”

  She closed the door quietly and shrugged off her scarf, hanging it on the hook. The sound of music drifted from the kitchen—an unmistakable, nostalgic guitar riff from the early 2000s. Ariel recognized it instantly. An old emo anthem, one Holly had shouted along to back when they were cleaning the apartment during their first week here. The memory alone made Ariel’s chest ache with warmth.

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  Curiosity pulled her forward. She moved softly across the hardwood, each step syncing to the beat thumping from the kitchen speaker. The closer she got, the stronger the smell became—pasta, tomato sauce, garlic bread toasting, and her homemade meatballs. Her mouth watered at the thought.

  Then she saw her.

  Holly stood by the stove, her long blonde hair swinging wildly as she sang into a wooden spoon, stirring a saucepan with exaggerated flair. She was barefoot, wearing one of Ariel’s old hoodies that hung loosely off her shoulder, and she was utterly lost in the song. She hit the high notes with full conviction, hips swaying, spinning clumsily but joyfully across the kitchen tiles. Every motion radiated that same effortless warmth that had undone Ariel from the very first week that they met.

  Ariel froze in the doorway, coat still pulled tightly around her. Her heart softened into something liquid. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. Watching Holly so carefree and radiant was a gift in itself.

  Holly’s voice cracked during the bridge, and she laughed at herself, shaking her head before belting the next line even louder. Ariel bit her lip, her cheeks glowing as she tried not to giggle. It felt almost like spying on joy.

  Minutes slipped by, unnoticed. The music filled the apartment, the scent of dinner wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Ariel’s nerves, for the first time that night, began to melt into something softer—affection blooming where anxiety had been.

  Then Holly spun on her heel mid-chorus, and her eyes landed on the doorway.

  For a heartbeat, the world stilled. The spoon froze in midair. The song carried on without her.

  Holly blinked, the surprise melting into a bright, disbelieving smile. “Red!” she said, her voice full of delight. “You’re home!”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. The wooden spoon clattered into the sink as Holly crossed the kitchen in a rush of excited dance moves, music still thundering in the background. She threw her arms around Ariel, pulling her close, laughter and warmth flooding the air as she kissed her, deep and sensual. Ariel melted instantly, the world narrowing to the taste of butter and sugar on Holly’s lips, the press of her body, and the sound of the music fading to a heartbeat.

  When they finally broke apart, Holly kept her arms draped around Ariel, eyes dancing with mischief. Her gaze dropped to the tightly fastened coat. “Why are you dressed like a spy?” she teased, one brow lifting.

  Ariel gave a smirk. “International woman of mystery,” she said dryly. “On a covert mission to steal your garlic bread.”

  Holly laughed, tilting her head, clearly unconvinced. Her eyes traced down the length of the coat, a playful suspicion creeping across her face. “Mm-hmm. You’re hiding something.”

  “Please,” Ariel said with a roll of her eyes, patting her belly through the coat, “I couldn’t hide anything under these clothes if I tried. Your cooking doesn’t allow for espionage.”

  That earned her another laugh. Holly brushed a strand of hair from her face and said, “That just means I'm qualified for the job,” before turning back toward the stove. “Speaking of, dinner’s almost ready, agent McIntyre.”

  Ariel chuckled under her breath, cheeks warm, and slipped away down the hall. Her heart was still pounding, but now it was, at least, part joy. She stepped into their bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.

  The lamp’s glow painted the room in gold as she crossed to the vanity. She sat down slowly, still bundled in her coat, the weight of the surprise beneath it reminding her why she was doing this. From the pocket, she pulled out her small makeup case and flipped it open.

  “Okay,” she whispered, exhaling slowly. “Steady hands, Red.” She began to apply the cosmetics she’d practiced so many times: the deep kohl around her eyes, the faint glitter along her lashes, the soft blush that caught the light just right. Her movements were deliberate, reverent.

  “This looked so much easier on the tutorial,” she muttered, drawing a careful line of gold above her eyelid. “If I poke my eye out before the big reveal, she’s never letting me live it down.”

  Her reflection smiled back, confident and uncertain all at once. The faint tremor of excitement returned as she leaned closer to the mirror, her voice a whisper meant only for herself. “You’ve got this. It’s just Holly. But… yeah. She’s also everything.”

  Ariel finished the last touch of gold on her eyelid, blinked once, and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she tilted her head this way and that, checking every shimmer and line. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And it was her. Satisfied, she nodded once and whispered, “Good enough to make her jaw drop.”

  She pushed her chair back with a soft creak and heaved herself to her feet, the coat still snug around her. From her purse, she pulled out a small satin bag, the final piece of her plan, and cradled it in her hands. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped back into the hallway.