“Darlin',” Eddie calls, front door clicking closed behind him. He’s almost sure you’re upset–maybe even mad.
He knows how late he is.
He sets the takeout boxes on the counter–all your favorites, he’d made sure of it–and lays the bundle of flowers next to them. He shrugs off his jacket, tosses it onto the couch–a problem for a different Eddie, one without such a mission.
His fingers go right to the record, he knows exactly the right one to play. Only when Peter Cetera's voice fills the apartment does he go in search of you.
Everybody needs a little time away…
“Baby?”
No answer.
He knows, almost instinctively, that you’re curled up in bed, hiding under the covers.
It’s exactly where he finds you.
He sits on the side of the bed, finds your eyes already looking at him.
“Hi, darlin'.”
“You’re late,” you mumble.
“I know. I know.” He nods. “You think you could let me make it up to you?”
A small smile spreads across your face and Eddie’s heart lifts. Hand in his, you let him lead you into the living room.
You squeeze his hand when you see the flowers, the food, and press a kiss to his cheek.
“You gettin’ soft on me, Brock?”
He pulls you close to him, starts to spin to the music.
“You know it, honey,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you hum.