By the time Christian and Elizabeth made it back to their apartment, the city had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the sidewalks while distant traffic hummed in the background. Christian unlocked the apartment door, holding it open for Elizabeth before following her inside.
Elizabeth slipped off her shoes with a relieved sigh.
"My feet are officially tired."
Christian kicked off his sneakers beside hers.
"We only walked around the park."
"We walked around the entire park."
"You wanted to see every path."
Elizabeth crossed her arms.
"What if one of the paths had something pretty at the end?"
Christian smiled.
"Did it?"
"...No."
"Then my point stands."
Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him before disappearing into the kitchen.
"I'm getting water."
"I'll join you."
Christian opened the refrigerator while Elizabeth reached into the cabinet for two glasses.
"Here."
He handed one to her before filling both with cold water.
Elizabeth took a long drink.
"That tastes amazing."
"I think that's because you laughed half the water out of your body."
She laughed again.
"You're never letting the ice cream thing go, are you?"
"Nope."
"It wasn't even that funny."
Christian looked at her.
"You almost fell over laughing."
"You dropped it."
"You laughed."
"You looked so disappointed."
"I was."
Elizabeth smiled into her glass.
"I know."
Later that evening, Elizabeth sat curled up on the couch with her notebook resting on her lap. She stared at the same blank page for nearly ten minutes.
Nothing.
She sighed.
Christian looked up from his laptop.
"Writer's block?"
Elizabeth groaned dramatically.
"I hate it."
"You've been staring at the same page."
"I know."
"You haven't written anything."
"I know."
Christian closed his laptop and scooted closer.
"What are you trying to write?"
Elizabeth shrugged.
"I know where I want the story to go."
"So what's stopping you?"
"I can't figure out how to get there."
Christian nodded.
"I get that."
"You do?"
"I know what I want my company to become."
He looked at his laptop.
"I just don't know where to start."
Elizabeth smiled.
"I guess we're both stuck."
Christian suddenly snapped his fingers.
"I have an idea."
Elizabeth looked at him suspiciously.
"I'm not sure I like that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you've already convinced yourself your idea is brilliant."
"It is."
She laughed.
"Go ahead."
Christian pointed toward the notebook.
"Tell me about your story."
Elizabeth blinked.
"The whole thing?"
"As much as you want."
She looked down at the notebook before taking a deep breath.
"It's about a girl..."
For the next thirty minutes, Elizabeth talked.
She talked about her characters.
The world they lived in.
The mysteries she wanted readers to solve.
The ending she had imagined years ago but never managed to write.
Christian barely spoke.
He simply listened.
Every now and then he asked a question that made Elizabeth stop and think.
"What does your main character want?"
"What scares her the most?"
"Why does the villain think they're right?"
Elizabeth hadn't realized how much she needed someone to ask those questions.
By the time she finished explaining everything, she looked back at the notebook.
"I know what happens next."
Christian smiled.
"I thought you might."
She picked up her pencil.
Words finally began filling the page.
While Elizabeth wrote, Christian reopened his laptop.
His inbox was filled with emails from his former secretary.
Possible office locations.
Budget estimates.
Lists of people interested in joining a new studio.
Christian rubbed the back of his neck.
"This is starting to feel real."
Elizabeth didn't look up from her notebook.
"It is real."
"What if no one believes in it?"
"I do."
He smiled.
"Besides you."
She paused her writing.
"If someone believes in you..."
She looked over at him.
"...that's usually where things start."
Christian looked at her for a long moment.
He had spent so much of his life trying to prove himself to everyone else that he forgot what it felt like to have even one person genuinely believe in him.
He quietly whispered to himself.
"I'm not doing this alone anymore."
Around ten o'clock, Elizabeth closed her notebook with a satisfied smile.
"I wrote six pages."
Christian looked genuinely impressed.
"That's the most you've written in a while?"
She nodded.
"Months."
He held his hand up.
She looked at it.
"What?"
"High five."
Elizabeth laughed before slapping her hand against his.
"There."
Christian smiled.
"I think that deserves a reward."
"What kind of reward?"
"Dessert."
Elizabeth looked toward the kitchen.
"We're out of dessert."
Christian stood up.
"Not if we bake something."
She stared at him.
"You bake?"
"I can follow instructions."
"That's...not the same thing."
"It'll be fine."
An hour later...
Flour covered nearly every surface in the kitchen.
There was batter on Christian's shirt.
Elizabeth somehow had chocolate on the tip of her nose.
The measuring cups were scattered across the counter.
Christian looked down at the recipe.
"I think we missed a step."
Elizabeth looked into the mixing bowl.
"I think we missed three."
"You were in charge of reading."
"You were in charge of mixing."
"You distracted me."
"You kissed my forehead!"
"You looked stressed."
Elizabeth laughed so hard she had to hold onto the counter.
"You can't blame baking on affection."
"I absolutely can."
The oven timer finally beeped.
Christian carefully pulled out the tray of cookies.
The two stared at them.
"They're..."
Elizabeth searched for the right word.
"...interesting."
Christian picked one up.
"It doesn't look that bad."
He took a bite.
Crunch.
Elizabeth watched his expression.
"...Well?"
Christian slowly chewed.
"It's edible."
"That's not confidence."
"It's...aggressively homemade."
Elizabeth burst into laughter.
She picked up another cookie and took a bite herself.
After a moment she shrugged.
"I've had worse."
Christian looked at her.
"You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not."
She took another bite.
"They're kind of charming."
"Cookies can be charming?"
She nodded seriously.
"They look like you made them."
Christian smiled.
"I did make them."
"Exactly."
He couldn't argue with that.
The two sat on the couch sharing their slightly overbaked cookies and laughing every time they found another oddly shaped one.
Outside, the city continued moving as it always had.
Inside, their apartment was filled with laughter, the smell of fresh cookies, and two people slowly learning that home wasn't a place.
It was the person sitting beside you.