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"I'm in love with you."
Artemis puts a pause on preparing dinner to turn around, fixing Chris, her guest and assistant chef, with a wide-eyed gaze. "Are you talking to me or the potatoes?"
His lips quirk upwards, and he puts down the potato and peeler he'd been put in charge of by Artemis. "As much as I do care for these potatoes." He steps towards her. "I was talking to you. It did kind of slip out, though―I didn't want to tell you until this weekend. Make it romantic and all that."
She smiles and moves towards him, slides her arms through his and wraps them around his waist. "This is plenty romantic," she hums. "You're here, with me, and we're making dinner together. My kids are in the other room playing with the dogs. I haven't brushed my hair today―and you love me anyway." His arms wrap around her. "I love you, too, by the way. Even though your hair might be messier than mine."
Chris' forehead presses against hers. "That's a relief," he hums, "You're wrong about my hair, though." He laughs, his breath fans her face and it smells like the strawberries he'd been gorging on earlier with Ellie. "I guess that just leaves one more thing..."
"Yeah?" She raises a brow expectantly. "What's that?"
"Will you be my girlfriend, Art?"
"Of course I will."
Chris' lips meet hers once the words are out in the open. Her fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him to her. Artemis feels her heart stutter and stammer and calm as Chris pulls her closer to him. It's soft, sweet―and when they pull apart, Artemis is breathless, and Chris is grinning down at her.
"We should carry on with dinner," Chris tells her, "Or your kids will hate me."
"They could never hate you," she says, but separates from him anyway. "But they do get cranky when they're hungry."
"Sounds like someone else I know." Chris glances at her as he goes back to his task, and when Artemis kicks out at him, he laughs.
