CHAPTER 180: 180 ~ JACE

The florist was just locking up when I walked in.

It wasn’t part of the plan not that I had one but I saw the flowers from across the street as I stepped out of Navarro constructions and thought of her. That was happening a lot lately. Random things reminded me of Mira. Coffee, sunlight, the smell of vanilla. Even quiet moments that used to feel empty now carried her name somehow.

I ended up picking a bouquet of white tulips mixed with pale pink roses. They were simple and elegant. They were the kind of flowers that didn’t scream for attention but still made you stop and look twice.

By the time I got home, the house smelled faintly of sugar and cinnamon. I followed the scent to the kitchen and stopped at the doorway.

She was standing there barefoot, hair loosely tied up, wearing one of my shirts. It was the exact light gray one I’d been searching for since morning. Figures.

The sleeves swallowed her wrists, and she looked up from the counter just in time to catch me staring.

"Hey," she said softly, smiling that kind of smile that always hit me somewhere deep.

"Hey yourself," I murmured, walking in. "You’re stealing my shirt again."

"I’m not stealing," she said, turning back to her mixing bowl. "I’m borrowing indefinitely."

I smirked. "That’s stealing, Mrs. Romano."

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the faint blush that crept up her neck when I called her that. It still got to her. The title Mrs Romano came with a certain type of weight. And maybe it always would.

"Here," I said, placing the flowers on the counter beside her. "For you."

Her gaze softened instantly. "You got me flowers?"

"Don’t sound so surprised." I rolled my eyes.

"I’m not surprised," she said, brushing a stray petal with her fingers. "Just... impressed."

I chuckled, stepping closer. "You like them?"

She nodded. "They’re perfect."

"Not as perfect as you."

She groaned, laughing. "You’ve been spending too much time around Tomas, haven’t you?"

Tomas had a reputation for being a sweet talker and ladies man so it was no surprise she would say that.

I shrugged. "Maybe. But unlike him, I mean it."

That earned me a small shove to the chest. I caught her hand easily and tugged her closer until she was against me, her laughter fading into a quiet sigh. Her head rested just under my chin, and I breathed her in sugar, vanilla, and something that was just her. This felt like a dream and I was thankful it was actually my reality.

"Did you have a good fitting?" I asked after a moment.

She looked up at me, eyes glimmering. "I did."

I raised a brow. "That’s it? No details?"

"You’re not supposed to know the details," she teased. "You’ll see it on the day."

"Just give me a clue." I practically begged.

"Nope." She said, popping the ’p’.

"Color?"

"White." She responded quickly.

I laughed. "Smartass."

She smiled against my chest. "You’ll just have to wait."

"I hate waiting."

"I know," she said softly. "But this will be worth it."

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Mira tilted her face up, and I caught the look in her eyes. It was calm and steady, full of the kind of affection that didn’t need words. Four years ago, neither of us had known what this kind of peace even looked like. It was fights and wars, me holding back my affection, her wanting to get away from me as much as possible. Now, we were together so much, it was as easy as breathing.

"I’ve always wanted this," I admitted quietly.

"What?"

"Coming home to you like this. Watching you cook. Watching you wear my shirts. I wanted this all the time but I didn’t know how to express it back then."

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t look away. "You’re getting sentimental, Jace Romano."

"Can you blame me?" I brushed a thumb over her lower lip. "You’re my favorite sight."

Her lips parted just slightly, and for a second the world went still with just the hum of the refrigerator, the soft buzz of the city outside, and her heartbeat syncing with mine.

Then she whispered, "You’re going to ruin my batter if you keep distracting me."

"Worth it," I murmured, kissing her forehead before letting her go.

She turned back to the counter, pretending to focus, but her smile gave her away. I leaned against the island, watching her move around the kitchen with effortless grace. Even after everything — all the blood, all the chaos that wasn’t entirely over — she’d somehow built this softness around us.

And I’d be damned if I ever let it go.

When she finally finished, she handed me a spoon with a playful glint in her eyes. "Taste."

I took a bite, hummed in approval, and said, "You could open another bakery with this recipe."

She laughed. "Don’t tempt me."

What she didn’t know was that she had actually given me a brilliant ide

We cleaned up together afterward, shoulders brushing, small smiles passing between us in silence. She refused the staff from doing it and I was doing everything to spend as much time with her as possible. Despite the fact that I never had to do it before now, cleaning was a simple task but that simplicity was what made this so precious.

Later, when we settled on the couch, she curled up beside me with her head on my chest, tracing lazy circles on my shirt. The bouquet sat on the table across from us, catching the warm light of the setting sun.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For the flowers. And for always coming home to me."

I kissed the top of her head. "That’s the easiest thing I’ll ever do."

She smiled against me, and I could feel it the warmth spread through my chest. For this moment, I didn’t let myself think about the past.

I just held her a little tighter and let the moment stretch on, soft and unhurried, until the last light of day faded away.