for every kiss you give me, i'll give you three
Summary: “Sweetheart,” he says with a low whistle, leaning in the doorway like something out of a magazine he’d stubbornly pretend he doesn’t read. “You look beautiful.”
Heat blooms up your neck. “I’m halfway done,” you say, trying for casual, though Julie is currently gnawing on her own fist, which ruins the effect.
He grins, slow and crooked. “You’re done enough for me.”
You roll your eyes. “Please go put on pants.”
“Can’t. I’m stunned. Legs don’t work.” He presses a dramatic hand to his heart, but slips sweatpants on anyway. “She’s too pretty, Judge. I rest my case.”
Julie kicks her feet at him, squealing like she knows he’s performing.
“Heyyyy, bug,” Eddie croons, walking over and scooping her up from your lap with practiced ease. “What’s goin’ on? You helpin’ Mama get all fancy?”
You and Eddie are finally able to go out for a Valentine's date... a month late.
Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Valentine's Day, Parenthood, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Eddie Munson
Word count: 8.9k
Catch up on the first entry into this universe here!
Julie announces her arrival with a triumphant squeal, the kind that ricochets down the hallway like a joyful little flare. You’re halfway through blending your foundation when the sound of determined shuffling hits the bedroom carpet.
You glance down. There she is. Your tiny tornado. Curls sticking up like dandelion fluff, mismatched socks, one drool-damped sleeve, and the biggest, proudest grin you’ve ever seen.
“Hi, bug,” you say, warmth blooming through your chest.
She immediately makes a beeline for you, walking fast (still a fairly new concept to her) and crooked, her diapered butt wiggling as she steers. She stumbles a bit as she reaches you and you barely have time to set your compact down before she hauls herself upright using your knee.
“Mama,” she announces, reaching up with grabby hands.
“Mama’s trying to look human,” you tell her gently, lifting her onto your lap because resistance is futile and also because there isn’t a universe in which you’d actually resist. “Big night. Date with Dada.”
Julie wastes zero seconds before snatching your makeup sponge and directing it toward her mouth.
“Nope— no, honey, that is definitely not food.” You pry it from her hand, replace it with a clean brush, and she beams like she’s been promoted. Then she tries to chew the brush. “Julie.” You sigh, amused and helpless. “Why must everything go in your mouth? You are not a goat.”
She giggles, a bubbly, delighted sound, and leans forward to plant a drooly kiss on your chin. Something inside you melts, as it always does. You can feel the imprint of the kiss like a tiny stamp from the sun. You make a half-hearted attempt to finish your eyeliner one-handed, but Julie wriggles, twisting toward the open makeup bag like it’s a treasure chest. As if she doesn’t have an entire nursery filled to the brim with toys. She manages to grab a tube of lipstick and immediately tries to uncap it.
“Whoa, whoa— no ma’am, not that one,” you say, lunging and intercepting it. “Mama needs that. It’s expensive. Here,” you say, taking the brush from her other hand and delicately swiping it down her cheek. “Does that feel nice?”
Julie freezes like you’ve just performed sorcery, then breaks into an astonished, delighted gasp. Her tiny hands fly to her cheeks.
“Pretty,” she announces in her tiny little voice. Her ‘r’s are still soft and slippery, making every word that much cuter.
“Yes, you are,” you whisper, kissing the crown of her head.
The bathroom door swings open behind you, and steam spills out in a lazy wave. Eddie steps into the bedroom with a towel slung low on his hips, curls slightly dripping, smelling like Irish Spring and warm water. His eyes land on you instantly.
And then he stops walking. Stops breathing, too, probably.
“Sweetheart,” he says with a low whistle, leaning in the doorway like something out of a magazine he’d stubbornly pretend he doesn’t read. “You look beautiful.”
Heat blooms up your neck. “I’m halfway done,” you say, trying for casual, though Julie is currently gnawing on her own fist, which ruins the effect.
He grins, slow and crooked. “You’re done enough for me.”
You roll your eyes. “Please go put on pants.”
“Can’t. I’m stunned. Legs don’t work.” He presses a dramatic hand to his heart, but slips sweatpants on anyway. “She’s too pretty, Judge. I rest my case.”
Julie kicks her feet at him, squealing like she knows he’s performing.
“Heyyyy, bug,” Eddie croons, walking over and scooping her up from your lap with practiced ease. “What’s goin’ on? You helpin’ Mama get all fancy?”
Valentine’s Day was a month ago, spent with a feverish toddler wedged between you in bed, cheeks flushed pink and nose stuffy from whatever delightful plague she brought home from daycare. You’d made soup and checked her temperature every twenty seconds. Eddie had fallen asleep sitting upright against the headboard with Julie drooling on his chest. Romance at its finest.
Then the cold lingered. Passed to you, then to Eddie. Then work piled up. Before you knew it, Eddie was asking Wayne if he could watch Julie for the night so he could take you out for Valentines— well into March.
“Dada!” she shouts, grabbing a fistful of his damp curls.
“Yeah, yeah, careful— those are expensive too,” he mutters, wincing but grinning. He bounces her lightly on his hip. “You helpin’ Mama get all fancy even though Valentine’s already came and went?”
“Vaw-ties,” she says confidently.
“That’s right. We’re celebrating late because somebody,” he taps her nose gently, “brought home the daycare plague.”
She blows a raspberry at him.
Eddie presses a kiss to her temple. “I still think you milked it,” he stage-whispers. “Total diva.”
Julie pats his mouth firmly. “No.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he corrects immediately. “You were brave. The bravest. Daddy was the diva.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “You were the one whining about not getting your Valentine’s steak.”
“Vaw-ties,” Julie gets out, making another solid two year old attempt at quite a hard word, you admit. Further compacted by the brush bristles in her mouth. How did she get that back in her grip?
Eddie plucks the brush from her hand and turns his attention back to you. “Listen, I normally think you’re the picture of a perfect mom,” he says, earning a proactive eyeroll from you. Here he goes… “Although I was thinking,” he continues, “I could feed her some actual food instead of makeup products.”
“Ugh,” you groan, playing along. “You’re so much smarter than me. Why didn’t I think of that?”
He adjusts her on his hip and swings her gently back and forth, the little curls at the nape of her neck still damp from her earlier bath. She leans her head against him with that soft toddler trust that always makes your heart twist.
“You wanna help Daddy make dinner?” he asks, brushing her hair back. “Mama’s got glamorous business to attend to.”
“Mac an’ cheese!” Julie chirps, already all in.
“That’s right,” he says proudly, bouncing her once for emphasis. “And maybe some vegetables too? Wouldn’t that be novel?” He glances at you then, softer. “Wayne should be here any minute. Come on, bug,” he murmurs, nuzzling Julie’s cheek. “Let’s get you fed before Grandpa Wayne gets here and spoils your dinner with whatever chocolate he’s got hidden in his coat.”
Julie pats his face. “Choc-wat,” she echoes.
“Ah, shit. Shouldn’t have said it.” He leans down, kisses the top of your head. His voice softens like velvet. “Finish getting ready,” he murmurs. “I’ll handle the gremlin.”
“Hey,” you call as he starts toward the kitchen, Julie’s socked feet kicking happily as she bounces on his arm. “Eddie?”
He pauses at the doorway, turning back. You take him in: damp curls, sweatpants slung low, baby balanced on one hip, affection softening every line of his face.
“You look good,” you say quietly.
He brightens like you handed him the moon. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He winks. “Wait till I put on my fancy jeans.”
You finish your eyeliner without poking yourself in the eye, which already feels like a cosmic win. You slip into the dress you dropped half a paycheck on at J.C. Penney’s two weeks ago after Robin nearly forced you at gunpoint— asking you when the last time was that you bought an item of clothing that wasn’t immediately covered in applesauce or drool or worse. You finish the look off with lipstick, a light spritz of perfume, the necklace Eddie gave you on your last anniversary. When you finally stand and look in the mirror, there’s a moment (not long, just a flicker) where you actually feel like yourself again. Not just Mom. Not someone just trying to keep a tiny human alive.
You feel like you. And it feels good.
You pad out into the kitchen, heels dangling from your fingers so you don’t biff it on the hallway rug. Eddie is exactly where you expect: shirtless, still damp-haired, leaning one hip against the counter while making ridiculous airplane noises as he guides a spoonful of mashed sweet potato toward Julie’s mouth.
She clamps her lips shut and turns her face away.
“No?” Eddie asks, offended. “Sweetheart, this is gourmet. This is five-star mush.”
Julie bangs both hands on her high chair tray and squeals, delighted to be ruining his bit.
“Open up, bug,” he coaxes, dodging an incoming flail. “Come on. Just a little. A teeny tiny—”
Julie smacks the spoon. A soft splatter of orange hits Eddie’s cheek. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying and failing not to laugh.
He turns slowly, eyes narrowed in mock warning. “Say one word,” he says, pointing the spoon at you, “and I’ll feed you next.”
You saunter in, smug. “Tempting. But you should go get ready. I’ll finish.”
Eddie straightens, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “You sure? She’s feisty tonight.”
“Go,” you say, waving him off as you grab the spoon.
“Have I mentioned how fucking incredible you look?” he asks, keeping the curse under his breath, away from little ears.
“Go,” you repeat, laughing. “Put on the fancy jeans.”
As he heads toward the bedroom, Julie holds both arms out dramatically. “Dada! Dada! No go!”
“You didn’t even want me!” he calls back. “And you got Mama. Much better deal.”
Julie squints skeptically at her spoon.
“Yes,” you tell her, sitting beside the high chair and picking up the napkin. “Mama is a great deal. Mama is the best deal. Mama is also going to lose her mind if you fling sweet potato at her new dress, so let’s keep the chaos to a minimum.”
She leans forward, curious, like she’s considering it.
“That’s right,” you murmur, offering the spoon. “Please be the angel that Grandpa Wayne seems to think you are.”
Julie accepts the bite. Barely. But you call it a victory.
“You know,” you tell her quietly, “Dada’s taking Mama out tonight. Even though Valentine’s was forever ago.”
“Vaw-tine,” she repeats automatically.
“Yeah. That.” You smile. “He wanted to do it on the real day. But somebody had a little cold.”
She opens her mouth for another bite, which you happily give her.
“You were so sick,” you murmur, softening, brushing your thumb under her eye. “My poor baby.”
Her hand reaches out, small and warm, patting at your collarbone. Her fingers catch on your necklace and she grips it with determined curiosity.
“Easy,” you laugh softly. “That’s special.”
She tugs once, then just holds it between her fingers, staring at it like it’s treasure. The pendant glints in the kitchen light.
“Dada gave that to me,” you tell her. “He’s very good to me. Did you know that?”
She looks up at you, blinking.
“He makes me laugh,” you continue, brushing her curls back from her forehead. “Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m grumpy. He sings my favorite songs— even the ones he doesn’t like. He takes care of us. He loves you so much it’s ridiculous. Sometimes I think his heart might actually explode.”
Julie smiles again, slow and bright, still clutching the necklace.
“And I love him,” you say softly. “Very, very much.”
You press your forehead gently to hers. She smells like baby shampoo and sweet potato.
“And I love you,” you whisper, voice wobbling just a little. “More than anything. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us. Even if you did delay Valentine’s dinner. I love you, bug.”
“Love you, Mama” she says, the words clumsy and miraculous all at once.
Everything in you melts. You close your eyes for a second, committing it to memory: the kitchen light, the soft hum of the fridge, your daughter’s sticky fingers tangled in your necklace.
You’ve just gotten her halfway through the bowl when there’s a knock at the door.
Julie’s eyes widen. “Gah-pa!”
“God” you remark, slipping her bib off and unbuckling her. “How do you always know it’s him? You’re my little witch, aren’t you?” You hoist her onto your hip and open the door.
Wayne Munson stands there with his same old work jacket, nose a bit pink from the cold, huge smile on his face at the sight of his grandchild.
“Evenin’, darlin’,” he says, stepping inside.
Julie practically leaps out of your arms and into his, squealing, “Gah-pa! Gah-pa! Gah-pa!” with the kind of joy reserved only for her favorite people and any animal or bug she has ever seen.
Wayne’s face softens like butter. “You’re gettin’ big,” he murmurs, voice warm enough to heat the whole apartment. “I keep tellin’ you to knock that off.” Julie responds by patting his cheek with a hand absolutely covered in orange goo. Wayne doesn’t even blink. “Look at that. Feedin’ your old man early.” Julie nods decisively, then steals his hat. Wayne lets her. “And look at you,” he adds, turning to you. “All dolled up. You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” you smile, handing him a napkin. “And thank you for watching her.”
“I should be thanking you,” he says, wiping the sweet potato from his face. “I miss havin’ a baby around the house to spoil rotten.”
You think of baby Eddie, wreaking havoc on Wayne’s life. Your heart kicks up at the little family you’ve found yourself a part of.
Eddie emerges from the hallway right then, adjusting his “fancy jeans”— which are, you admit, pretty damn flattering— and attempting to tame one rebellious curl.
Wayne looks him up and down. “You clean up good, boy.”
Eddie beams. “Why thank you, old man.”
He walks over to you, hands sliding to your waist almost automatically. “Well?”
You glance him over, slow and appreciative. “You would never even know about all the sweet potato you were wearing earlier.”
Julie, wearing Wayne’s hat sideways, points at Eddie’s jeans and declares, “Dada pants!”
Eddie laughs. “Fancy jeans, as advertised. Somebody appreciates the effort.”
You hand Wayne the half-finished bowl and bib. “She ate most of it. You can try to get her to eat more, but she might not, and that’s okay. But who knows? She’s in a really good mood now. Probably because you’re here.”
“Did you hear that, Wayne?” Eddie says, slipping his shoes on. “Real food, please. Not just garbage.”
Wayne balances her with one arm like he’s been doing it since the dawn of time. She wraps both arms around his neck like she’d physically fight anyone who tried to peel her off.
“Gah-bage,” Julie parrots.
Wayne laughs softly. “Well that settles it. You two better scram before she realizes you’re leavin’. She gets wind of that, I won’t get her to stop cryin’ till morning.”
It’s kind of him to lie. You know with him here, she couldn’t care less that the two of you are leaving.
Eddie leans in to kiss Julie’s cheek, but she clamps onto Wayne tighter like a koala.
“Wow,” Eddie mutters. “Okay. Always thrilled to see where I rank.”
“About third,” Wayne deadpans.
You step forward, brushing your hand down her curls. “I love you so much, baby. Be good for Grandpa Wayne.”
Julie doesn’t look at you. She is fully Wayne’s creature tonight.
“See?” Wayne says, hitching her on his hip. “Go on. Get outta here while she’s distracted. Have yourselves a Valentine’s.”
Eddie squeezes your hand. “Thanks, old man. Bed by nine? Please?” he requests, knowing it’s a losing battle.
You laugh and tug him along. Wayne raises a hand in a farewell salute, Julie imitating him with her tiny palm, still wearing his giant hat. You both grab your jackets and slip out. Once the door clicks shut behind you, the cold March air settles in. Eddie exhales, long and satisfied, like stepping out of the parental force field resets him. He holds your hand so you can balance, trying not to slip on the disgusting, sludgy leftover snow from last week’s storm. You glance over at him, taking in the jeans, the fitted shirt, the leather jacket, the delicate chain glinting against his collarbone.
“You look handsome,” you tell him, simple and sure.
He nearly trips over his own feet. “Handsome?”
“Mhm.”
“Like… actual handsome? Or just… ‘you look like you tried and that’s cute and I’m taking pity on you’ handsome?”
You lift a brow. “Are you fishing for extra compliments?”
“I just need clarity,” he says, stepping closer, voice dipping warm. “Because if you actually think I look good, I’m gonna start struttin’.”
“I feel like that’s your default setting.”
“For you,” he corrects, tipping forward to nudge your nose with his. “Always for you.”
You nudge him back. “Let’s go before I try to jump your bones in the backseat.”
“Mrs. Munson!” he gasps, mock-scandalized, wide grin taking over his face. He grabs your hand and spins you round, planting you firmly in his arms.
You shove him away playfully. “Get in the car, doofus. We’re gonna be late for the movie.”
It’s not far to the theater. Eddie drums his fingers on the steering wheel along with whatever rock station he settles on, but even when he’s pretending to pay attention to the road, you can feel his gaze flick your way. This is big. A night out. No diaper bag, no spare onesie stuffed in your purse, no half-crushed puffs rattling around the cupholder. It feels almost illicit. Still, halfway to the theater, your stomach twists.
“You think she’ll go down okay?” you ask.
Eddie glances over, amused. “You’re starting early.”
“I’m not starting anything, I’m just— Wayne always lets her stay up too late.”
“He’s the grandpa. It’s in the job description.”
You suppose it is.
“What if she won’t stop crying after we leave?”
“She didn’t even look at us,” he counters, laughing. “She’s probably already got a stomach full of chocolate and bullying Wayne into giving her more.”
You roll your eyes, but the worry doesn’t fully retreat. Eddie notices. He always does.
His hand leaves the wheel, finding your thigh in a warm, grounding press. “She’s okay,” he says gently. “Babe, I promise.”
You take a breath. His thumb traces one slow circle. The knot eases.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “You’re right.”
“I usually am,” he teases, flashing a grin that achieves its goal of making you swat at him.
The theater marquee glows warm as you pull up, advertising the new release you’re here to see: Silence of the Lambs. You and Eddie had heard it’s tense and sickening and stomach-churning— everything you used to love in a movie before you had tiny eyes accompanying every video rental.
You’re a bit overdressed in your new dress, but you both wanted the night to feel special. And the outfit will make more sense at the restaurant, you figure.
Eddie buys you a giant popcorn, even though you insist you don’t want to spoil your fancy dinner. He even gets Milk Duds so he can eat half while claiming they were for you. Inside, the theater is half-full. You sit near the back, sharing popcorn, sharing whispers, sharing tiny bursts of laughter in the dark whenever he pretends to shield your eyes during the tense parts despite your insistence that you’re not remotely scared. And you let yourself sink into the movie with him, letting the world shrink to just the glow of the screen and the warmth of his side pressed to yours.
By the time you and Eddie spill back out into the crisp night air, you’re buzzing with that strangely pleasant leftover adrenaline the movie planted under your skin. He helps guide you again through the grey piles of snow in your heels. You’ve got an 8:15 dinner reservation to make.
Eddie stretches, groaning dramatically as he unlocks the car. “I swear, every time I go two hours without moving, my knees age fifteen years.”
“You’re so brave for enduring all that you do,” you deadpan, sliding into your seat.
“I am,” he agrees solemnly. “Please tell everyone.”
Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright. Next stop… fancy dinner with my fancy girl.” He drums a triumphant intro on the steering wheel.
You snort, buckling up. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, headed for the fancy Italian place you haven’t had the chance to try since it opened almost a year ago.
But then you pass it.
The diner.
Your diner.
Flickering neon buzzing in the cold. The parking lot glinting with melted sludgey snow. The same red vinyl booths you used to make out in during slow nights. The same tabletop jukeboxes that had your favorite Ronettes song ready to go.
Your heart does a strange, soft lurch. “Hey,” you say, reaching your fingers out to touch his arm.
“Yeah?”
“I know we have a reservation,” you say, watching it slide past the window, little ghosts of your teenage selves pressed up in the memories. “But… would you take me there instead?”
Eddie glances at you, confused at first, then softening immediately. “The diner?” His brows lift. “Sweetheart, I wanted to spoil you tonight.”
“You still can,” you say, grinning. “I want a burger and a milkshake. Like… desperately.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice gentling. “Because that reservation is like three courses and— and a tablecloth, and I shaved my face and everything.”
“Positive.” You reach over, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You can still spoil me. Just… maybe with fries instead of fancy wine.”
His whole face lights up. “Anything for my girl.”
Eddie makes a U-turn so fast you grip the door handle and laugh until your stomach hurts.
The diner is mostly empty when you walk in, warm and bright and smelling like grilled onions and malt. The waitress recognizes you instantly and gives you a wink as she seats you in the booth you always used to claim. The vinyl cracks beneath you in the exact same places. The sign in the window still says Try our new pancakes even though they haven’t been ‘new’ in ten years. If you thought you were overdressed for the movie, you look like the Queen of England here.
You take his hand across the table, tracing the familiar silver rings. You talk about the movie, about how badass Clarice is, how freaky Hannibal Lecter is, and how mega-freaky Eddie’s impression of him is. He makes you laugh. He always makes you laugh. You smile into your shake when it arrives. Chocolate. He ordered it for you without even asking.
You’re halfway through your burger when Eddie leans back, stretching one arm across the top of the booth like he owns the place. His eyes drift, casual as anything, toward the little tabletop jukebox bolted beside the napkin holder.
His fingers slide toward it. You barely notice at first, just the soft clink of coins, the quiet press of a button, and then he settles back like nothing happened at all, reaching for a fry.
A beat passes. Two. And then the opening drums start.
The night we met I knew I needed you so…
Eddie’s head snaps up in exaggerated surprise. He points up at the ceiling, eyes wide as he looks at you. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says. “What are the odds?”
You stare at him. Then your mouth curls into a slow grin. “Are you seriously pulling this again?”
And if I had the chance I'd never let you go…
He blinks innocently. “Pulling what?”
“Your classic little teenage charade,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“And what charade would that be?” he asks, playing the fool.
So won't you say you love me?
You narrow your eyes. “Eddie.”
“What?”
I'll make you so proud of me…
“You want me to say it?”
He shrugs, but the corner of his mouth betrays him. “Say what?”
You lean forward across the table. “You used to do this all the time.”
We'll make 'em turn their heads every place we go…
His grin spreads wider.
“Every time we came here as stupid kids, you’d do the exact same thing. You’d put my favorite song on and then pretend it was some cosmic accident.”
“I mean, how do we know it wasn’t? Isn’t?”
Be my, be my baby…
“You are such a sap.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Romantic.”
“You were trying way too hard.”
“And it worked.”
You can't argue with that.
The song floats soft and golden around you, syrupy and warm like the diner lights. For a moment you can almost see it layered over itself like a film strip: two kids in this same booth, knees bumping, sharing fries because neither of you had enough money to order your own meals. Young Eddie, all nerves and devotion and wild hair.
“One thing I do remember,” Eddie says, dragging a finger along the scratched tabletop, “is sitting in this booth and pretending I wasn’t staring at you the whole time.”
You snort. “You were awful at it. You’d look at me, then look away so fast you’d almost give yourself whiplash.”
“I was subtle,” he insists.
At that, you let out an honest guffaw. “Oh, that might be the funniest thing you’ve ever said,” you tell him. “You have not been subtle about anything in your entire life, ever.” You pop another fry into your mouth.
“Well how could I be?” he throws his ego out the window, leaning in closer. “I was head over heels.”
You blink at him, heart kicking up. “I remember.”
“Still am,” he says. His gaze softens, full of something molten and familiar. “You still look as beautiful as the day I fell in love with you.”
You instinctively roll your eyes. You always do when he’s cheesy like this. But your breath still catches. He doesn’t say it lightly. He never has. He still looks at you like that. Still plays your favorite song on purpose and pretends it’s an accident. Still skips a fancy dinner because you wanted french fries.
You think about the necklace resting warm at your throat. The way he fed Julie earlier, making airplane noises and letting her smear sweet potato across his face like he didn’t care in the slightest. How gentle he is with her. How patient. How completely in love. He’s always been so good to you. Even when you were both broke and scared and pretending you weren’t.
And then, naturally, the conversation tilts toward the gravitational center of your current universe.
“Do you think Wayne put her to bed yet?” you ask, glancing at the clock on the wall. Almost ten.
Eddie snorts. “Absolutely not. She’s probably eating ice cream straight outta the carton.”
Outside, the air is sharp, the kind that stings your nose and makes you tuck your chin into your jacket. Eddie slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk to the car, pulling you close like he always does when it’s chilly.
The engine rumbles to life, heater coughing warm air into the cabin. You settle into your seat, still smiling a little, still full in that quiet, content way that has nothing to do with food.
Eddie backs out of the space one-handed, the other already reaching across the console for you like muscle memory. You slide your hand into his. His fingers lace through yours without looking, warm and steady, thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles as he pulls toward the exit. The diner’s neon glows behind you in the rearview mirror, buzzing softly against the dark.
Near the edge of the lot, a handful of teenagers linger around a beat-up car, jackets too thin for the weather. One kid leans against the hood smoking something he probably shouldn’t be. Another is perched on the trunk, laughing loudly. One of them tosses his hair out of his face in a way that feels weirdly familiar.
You watch them as Eddie slows for the turn onto the road.
“Hey,” you say quietly.
“Yeah?”
You nod toward them. “That remind you of anyone?”
Eddie glances over, then back at the group. “What, me and the boys?”
You hum. “Yeah.”
He squints at them through the windshield as you idle there for a second. A couple of the boys are swatting at each other. One of them’s holding what looks like a cassette tape up to the light like he’s trying to read the label. Another one is doing that exaggerated rock-guy hair toss that every teenage boy thinks looks cool.
You feel a little tug in your chest. Because suddenly it’s easy to see it.
A younger Eddie leaning against a van in some parking lot somewhere. Long hair, ripped jeans, leather jacket even when it’s too cold. Jeff and Gareth nearby, arguing about guitar parts and band names and which Sabbath album is the best. D&D character sheets shoved into backpacks. Dice in jacket pockets. A whole future none of them could see yet.
You smile to yourself.
“You should roll down the window,” you tell him.
He glances over at you. “Why?”
“So you can tell them they’re looking at their future.”
He barks a laugh. “Oh fuck off.”
“I’m serious!”
He shakes his head, already grinning. “No way. Those kids don’t look anywhere near as cool as we did.”
You let out a loud laugh. “Eddie Munson.”
“What?”
“You were not cool.”
“We were!” he insists, but you can tell from the glint in his eye he’s just riling you up. “We were cool in our own way!”
“You need to know that I say this with love—”
“Oh great,” he anticipates.
“But you were a long-haired seedy freak,” you remind him.
“Wow!” he barks out a full-throated laugh.
You know that he knows that you’re pushing his buttons, and you wouldn’t be telling him this if you didn’t know that he finds it hilarious. But still, you lean over the console to press a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m filing that away for later,” he warns you playfully, “Don’t try to be sweet on me now.”
“I’m just telling you the truth.”
“Right.”
“And the truth is that I, on the other hand, was cool. So at least I can pass that down to Julie.”
He snorts. “You were not.”
You scoff, playing up your offense. “I was cool!”
“Absolutely not.”
“I was!”
“Ehhhhhhhhh,” he tosses his head to the side. “I think you’re misremembering, sweetheart. Because you, unfortunately, were dating the…” he cuts a sideways glance at you, corners of his lips curling upward. “What did you call me?”
“I don’t remember,” you fib.
“Did you call me a long-haired seedy freak?” An outright grin spreads on his face at your audacity.
“I don’t…” you scratch at your eyebrow. “... think that was me.”
“You were dating the long-haired seedy freak!”
“So?” you grumble.
“So,” he continues, clearly delighted with himself, “that makes you a freak by association. You can’t date the resident weirdo of Hawkins— let alone have a child with him, might I remind you— and walk away with a clean reputation.”
You fold your arms, pretending to consider it.
“Well,” you say slowly, “then I guess I should’ve picked someone cooler.”
Eddie gasps. “Oh my god!”
“Maybe a nice football player,” you continue thoughtfully. “Or a future accountant.”
He groans. “Don’t do this.”
“Someone with a sensible haircut.”
“Oh, you are such a dick,” he laughs breathily.
You glance over at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “But I think when all’s said and done, I’ll stick with you.”
“Oh!” he yelps. “Ladies and gentlemen, she saves it at the last second! It’s a Valentine’s miracle.”
You grin, giggle leaking out.
“What a wonderful closing sentiment. That was really impressive, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome.”
He scoffs, still smiling. “Although, if I may,” he adds, “I’d like to formally object to the phrase long-haired seedy freak.”
“You object?”
“I object strongly.”
You gesture toward him with your free hand. “But now it’s a badge of honor,” you tell him.
“Is it now?”
“Mm-hm. ‘Cause now you’re a long-haired seedy freak who plays legendary music venues all over the country,” you tell him.
“Legendary, hm?” he laughs again.
“Yep.”
“Mmm,” he nods. “And we’re counting Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and occasionally Minnesota as ‘all over the country’ now?”
His joke hangs between you, warm and gently self-deprecating, the way he gets when the truth scares him a little. His eyes flick up to you like he’s checking that you’re still here. Still with him. Still choosing this life that uproots everything every few months.
You squeeze his hand. “You’re getting bigger every tour.”
He gives you that small, crooked smile— the one that says he wants to believe you but doesn’t quite trust it yet. “Yeah, well. Don’t blink or we might make it to Ohio next.”
The heater hums steadily, warming your feet. The windshield glows faint gold from passing streetlights. His thumb keeps tracing slow circles against your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
After a minute, you glance over at him. “When do you leave again?”
He shifts a little in his seat, not surprised by the question.
“Not for a couple weeks,” he says. “We got rehearsals next week, then we head out after that.”
Relief spreads through you before you can hide it. “Good.”
His eyes flick back to the road, then back to you, catching the way your shoulders loosen. “Yeah?” he asks gently.
“I like having you home,” you say simply.
His mouth curves into a small smile. “I like being home.”
And he means it. You can hear it in the way he says it.
He squeezes your hand. “I got plans, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods toward the road like he’s mapping it out in his head. “Gonna fix that dishwasher before I go.”
You laugh quietly. “You said that last time.”
“Okay but this time I mean it.”
“Mm-hm.”
“And I figured I’d finish Julie’s room.” He glances over. “Paint the bugs on her walls like we talked about.”
You turn toward him immediately. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
Your whole face lights up. “Eddie.”
He shrugs, a little shy about the reaction. “I already drew a couple designs. Ladybugs, butterflies, beetles, all the creepy crawlies… maybe a big dragonfly over the crib.”
“Oh my god,” you breathe.
He smiles sideways. “Too much?”
“No,” you say instantly. “It’s perfect.”
Julie loves bugs. She points at every ant on the sidewalk like it’s a mythical thing. She sits cross-legged in the grass watching beetles crawl like it’s television. She’d spent ten full minutes last week staring at a caterpillar at the park instead of climbing on the jungle gym.
And Eddie is ridiculous about details. You’ve seen him paint. The patience. The tiny careful lines. The way he leans in close, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s solving something important. He could make those bugs look real enough to crawl right off the wall.
“She’s gonna lose her mind,” you say.
He grins. “That’s the goal.”
You lean your head back against the seat, smiling.
You picture it instantly— the pale yellow walls, the little wooden crib Wayne sanded down and refinished himself, Eddie crouched on the floor with paint on his hands and curls falling in his eyes while Julie tries to “help".
Your chest aches in that full, grateful way.
“You’re such a good dad,” you say quietly.
He exhales through his nose, almost embarrassed. “Tryin’.” He squeezes your hand. “Gonna make that room look like a whole bug kingdom,” he adds. “Julie Munson: Bug Queen.”
You lean your head back against the seat, smiling to yourself, imagining Julie toddling into the room and looking up at walls full of bright little wings and spots and crawling legs painted by her dad.
It feels so Eddie, the way he makes things with his hands. Music, drawings, little repairs around the apartment. The way he pours himself into the details. The way he leaves pieces of himself behind for you and Julie when he has to go.
Your fingers tighten around his. He squeezes back without looking away from the road.
The road back home is quiet this late. Streetlights pass in warm golden blinks across the windshield, sliding over Eddie’s face and disappearing behind you. The heater hums low, and your favorite radio station faintly plays in the background.
The light ahead turns red. Eddie slows, one hand loose on the wheel, the other still holding yours. The car rolls to a stop with a gentle little rock. For a second he just sits there. Then he turns his head. You’re already looking at him. His eyes are soft and warm in a way that still sometimes catches you off guard, even after all these years.
“What?” you ask, smiling a little.
He shakes his head.
“Nothin’.”
But he doesn’t look away. His thumb brushes once across your knuckles.
Then he leans over the console and kisses you. Slow and warm and unhurried. Your hand lifts automatically to his jacket collar, fingers curling into the worn leather as you kiss him back. The world is very small for a second, just the faint rumble of the engine and the warmth of his mouth and the soft brush of his hair against your forehead.
A car honks somewhere behind you.
Eddie pulls back with a quiet laugh. “Okay, okay —”
The light’s green.
He straightens, shifting the car back into motion, one hand coming back to the wheel. But your hands find each other again without looking.
By the time you turn onto your street, the houses are mostly dark. Your porch light is on, but the rest of the windows are dim.
Eddie slows as he pulls into the driveway. He glances at the house. “Think she’s out?”
You study the dark windows. No movement. No flickering TV. No tiny silhouette bouncing around. “Maybe,” you say cautiously.
He cuts the engine. Silence settles around you. You both sit there for a second like you don’t want to jinx it.
Then Eddie exhales. “Holy shit.”
You laugh quietly. “Don’t celebrate yet.”
But hope is already creeping in. You get out, the cold air nipping at your cheeks, and walk up the steps together. Inside, the house is dim and warm. Wayne must have turned most of the lights off. The living room lamp is low. TV off. Quiet.
You shut the door softly behind you while Eddie locks it. Your heels come off with a soft thump against the mat, as do Eddie’s. You exchange a hopeful and surprised look. You grin. Maybe you are off the hook. Maybe Julie fell asleep easy. Maybe tonight stays calm and soft all the way through.
You hang your coat. Eddie stretches his arms overhead, spine popping faintly. He exhales in relief.
“Man…”
And then, from down the hallway, a tiny voice explodes into the quiet.
“MAMA DADA HOME!!!” High-pitched. Triumphant. Pure joy.
You and Eddie both freeze. Then you both tip your heads back and sigh at exactly the same time. You laugh helplessly.
Little feet pound against the floorboards. Fast. Chaotic. Julie appears around the corner in her pajamas like a tiny hurricane, hair sticking up in every direction.
“MAMA!!!”
She runs straight at you. Full speed. No brakes. You barely get your arms open before she collides into you, wrapping around your legs.
Eddie rubs a hand over his face. “Did Grandpa Wayne do any part of his job tonight?”
Julie bounces in place, vibrating with happiness.
“You go DINNER?”
“We went to dinner,” you confirm, scooping her up.
She throws her arms around your neck. Then twists immediately toward Eddie.
“Dada!!”
He reaches automatically, taking her from you like second nature.
“Hey, bug.”
She pats his cheeks with both hands.
“You BACK.”
“We’re back!” he parrots, and presses a kiss to her temple.
Julie settles against his shoulder like she belongs there. Because she does.
Wayne appears in the hallway behind her, looking apologetic. “You gotta believe me,” he says quietly. “I almost had her down, I swear.”
Eddie laughs under his breath. “Course you did.”
Julie pats Eddie’s shoulder proudly. “Gah-pa read books,” she tells you, the word coming out more like ‘weed’. Completely adorable.
“How many books?” you ask her, brow quirked, because Julie likes to push her luck with bedtime books lately. One story very sneakily turns into five.
“Uhhhhhh…” she pretends to think, and comes up empty. “I fo-get.”
“You forget?” you ask her, brow now thoroughly furrowed.
Julie nods solemnly, like she’s given you a perfectly reasonable answer.
Eddie snorts. “Convenient.”
Julie ignores him and presses her cheek into his shoulder. You reach up and smooth over a rogue curl. It springs right back up again.
God, you love her.
The warm pajamas, the sleepy brightness in her eyes, the way she keeps checking your faces like she needs to make sure you really came back. Eddie’s doing the same thing in his own way, rocking her gently without realizing it, nose brushing the top of her head.
“You miss us?” he asks.
Julie nods immediately.
Your heart does that stupid squeezing thing again. “We missed you too,” you tell her.
She smiles, wide and proud, like that’s exactly the answer she expected.
Behind her, Wayne shifts awkwardly in the hallway. “Sorry she’s still up,” he says. “Really thought I had her.”
You shake your head right away. “It’s okay.” And you mean it. You step closer and touch his arm lightly. “Really. It’s fine, Wayne, don’t sweat it. These days it feels like it’s a miracle if she’s down before the sun’s up.”
Wayne huffs a quiet laugh at that.
“Sounds about right.”
Julie is still clinging to Eddie’s shoulder, one small fist tangled in the collar of his shirt like she’s making absolutely sure he doesn’t disappear again.
Wayne shifts his weight in the hallway, glancing between the two of you.
“So,” he says, casual, “how was that fancy dinner?”
You and Eddie look at each other immediately. Just a quick glance. But it’s enough. Your mouths both twitch.
Eddie clears his throat first.
“It was…” he says slowly.
You can see the corner of his mouth pulling upward.
“…perfect.”
You bite your lip.
Wayne nods like that’s exactly what he expected to hear. “Good.”
You finally let the smile spread across your face. Because technically he’s not lying.
It was perfect.
Eddie looks over Julie’s head. “You wanna just crash here tonight?” he asks Wayne. “Save yourself the drive.”
Wayne shakes his head immediately. “Nah. I’ll get outta your hair.”
“You’re not in our hair,” you say.
“No trouble at all,” Eddie adds.
Wayne gives you both a look. “I got a hard time believing she goes to sleep if I stay.”
Julie perks up instantly. “Gah-pa Wayne stay?”
Wayne points at her. “See?”
Eddie grins. “Ohhh, listen to this guy,” he says. Wayne just sighs. Eddie nudges Julie’s side. “He’s bragging,” he tells her. “Hear that? He’s acting like he’s your favorite.”
Julie considers this very seriously. Then nods. “Gah-pa favorite.”
Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “Wow.”
You laugh. Wayne tries (and fails) not to look pleased with himself.
“Dada favorite too!” she adds, but Eddie’s already playfully devastated.
“Too?” he cries. “Too??”
“I’m not even getting involved in this,” you mutter, coiling one of her little curls around your finger delicately.
“Unbelievable,” Eddie mutters. “You know, your mama and I pay the rent.”
Julie pats his shoulder sympathetically.
“It okay Dada.”
That makes you laugh harder. Wayne shakes his head and reaches for his jacket. You stop him.
“Do you want coffee before you go?”
“I’ll be alright.”
“I’d really like to make you coffee.”
He pauses. “You don’t have to.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” you say. “And since you still refuse to accept any kind of payment for watching the munchkin…”
Eddie nods immediately.
Wayne sighs like he’s losing an argument he knew he was going to lose. “Alright.”
So you all drift into the kitchen. The overhead light clicks on warm and soft. Julie stays glued to Eddie while he drops into one of the chairs, hauling her into his lap automatically. Wayne sits across from them, hands folded loosely like he never quite knows what to do with himself when he’s not working on something.
You fill the coffee maker with water, measure grounds by memory.
The familiar small sounds fill the room— the scoop against the tin, the tap of the carafe settling into place. Eddie asks Julie which books Wayne read to her.
“We read bug book,” she reports importantly. More like ‘wed’, again. Completely adorable, again.
Eddie perks up immediately. “Yeah? What bugs we talkin’ about?”
Julie wiggles a little in his lap, suddenly shy now that she’s being quizzed.
Wayne leans forward, patient as always. “C’mon, you remember. What’s the little red ones?”
Julie scrunches her face. “Uh…”
“Ladybugs,” Wayne says gently.
Julie brightens immediately. “Yeah!”
She twists toward you.
“Lay-bug.”
“Ladybug,” you echo warmly. “We love those.”
Wayne continues, steady and encouraging. “What about the ones that crawl on leaves?”
Julie scrunches her face up again. You can practically see the gears turning.
“Cat… cat… catta…”
“Caterpillars?” he suggests.
“Catta-pillas,” she says triumphantly.
“Close enough,” Eddie says.
You smile into the cabinet as you reach for the mugs.
Wayne keeps going. “And the shiny ones? The crawly ones with the pincers?”
“Bee-duls!” she says, wiggling in Eddie’s lap.
“That’s it.”
Eddie squeezes her gently. “You’re a bug expert, huh?”
She nods very seriously.
Wayne settles back a little. “So which one’s your favorite?”
Julie doesn’t even hesitate.
“Daggon-fly!” She throws one hand into the air like she’s making an announcement.
Eddie and you look at each other instantly. That quick, quiet, knowing look.
The dragonfly. Of course. The big one he’s planning over her bed.
“What other books did you make Grandpa Wayne read to you, bug?”
She thinks for a moment before listing: “We read bear book. An’ moon book. An’ twuck book.”
Wayne nods. “That’s right,” he says. “Truck. Just like the one Grandpa has, right, Julie?”
Julie nods and leans heavier into Eddie’s chest, eyelids drooping a little, but she’s still determined to tell the story.
“Big twuck,” she says.
“Big truck,” Wayne echoes.
“Red twuck.”
“Red truck.”
“Go brrrrrrrr.”
Eddie obliges with a low rumbling engine noise that makes her giggle against him. Then he glances over at you with a little grin.
“Hey, Bug,” he says.
She looks up.
“Lemme ask you something important.”
Her eyes widen a little.
“Do you think Dada’s cool?”
You snort softly at the counter because you know exactly where that came from.
Julie doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
Eddie immediately looks over at you, triumphant. “Ha.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh please.” You lean against the counter, folding your arms. “Julie,” you say, “do you think Mama’s cool?”
Julie studies you both very seriously. Then she points. “Mama mo’ cool.”
Wayne chokes on a laugh.
Eddie gasps like he’s been shot. “Excuse me??”
Julie nods, completely confident. “Mama mo’ cool.”
Eddie clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow."
Then he scoops her up and tosses her gently into the air.
Julie shrieks with laughter. “Dada cool! Dada cool!” she squeals mid-giggle.
“Too late!” Eddie says, catching her and peppering her cheeks with kisses. “Damage done! You broke your old man’s heart!”
She giggles wildly, kicking her feet while he tickles her ribs. Then she suddenly remembers something very important.
“Oh! Put me down, Dada.”
She wriggles down out of Eddie’s lap and toddles out of the kitchen for a second. You and Eddie exchange a curious look. A moment later she comes running back with a wrinkled sheet of paper clutched in her hand. She holds it out to you proudly. You take it carefully.
It’s… incredible. In the way only a two-year-old drawing can be.
Four vaguely human shapes made of big wobbly circles and stick limbs. One of them has a scribbled mass of black curls that can only be Eddie. Another wears a sparkly necklace that must be you. One smaller blob between them is clearly Julie. And off to the side is another tall stick person.
You look up at Wayne. “Oh my goodness, Julie.”
Julie points. “Mama.”
You nod solemnly. “That’s me.”
She points again. “Dada.”
Eddie grins. “Nailed the hair.”
Another jab of her finger. “Me.”
“Beautiful portrait,” he says.
Then she points to the last figure. “Gah-pa.”
Wayne huffs quietly through his nose but you can see the way his shoulders soften.
“You got all of us,” you tell her.
She beams. You lean down and kiss the top of her head before setting the drawing carefully on the fridge with a magnet. The coffee maker gives a final sputter behind you. Perfect timing. You pour a mug and slide it across the table to Wayne.
“There you go.”
He nods his thanks again, and you sit across from him, next to Eddie and Julie.
Julie is still explaining the drawing in intense detail. “This house. An’ bug. An’ moon. An’ truck…” Her voice is getting slower now.
Eddie smiles down at her, brushing a curl off her forehead. She rubs one eye.
“You had quite the night."
She nods slowly. Then she yawns. Huge. Her head droops against his chest. Wayne chuckles quietly into his coffee.
Eddie looks down at her. “You ready for bed, Bug?”
Her eyes snap open just enough to protest. “No.”
“You’re falling asleep sitting up.”
“No bed,” she insists, even as her eyes drift shut again.
You laugh softly from the counter.
Julie squints at Wayne. “Read mo books?”
Wayne lifts his eyebrows at you.
You shake your head. “Nice try,” you tell her. “You already got four books tonight.”
“Five,” Wayne corrects.
“Five?” you repeat. “Julie Munson…”
Julie doesn’t look guilty at all. Her eyes are closing again.
You crouch beside Eddie’s chair and lean closer to her. Your voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen,” you murmur, “I bet if you go to bed right now…”
Her eyes crack open.
“... Dada might sing to you.”
Julie freezes. Then she bolts upright like you hit a switch.
“OKAY.”
Before Eddie can even react she scrambles out of his lap and sprints down the hallway.
“BED!”
Her little feet thunder across the floor. Eddie stares after her. You grin.
“Got her.”
Eddie drags a hand down his face, already pushing back from the table. “You sold me out,” he accuses, pointing at you.
“Had to sacrifice you for the greater good,” you shrug. “So sorry, darling. You would’ve done the same to me.”
Eddie just shakes his head. “You’re damn right, Little Miss Mo’ Cool.” But he’s smiling. You see the little crease at the corner of his mouth.
“Dada!” Julie calls again from down the hall, impatient now.
“I’m coming, Bug Queen,” he calls back, already heading that way.
He pauses long enough to lean down and press a quick kiss to the top of your head as he passes.
“You owe me,” he mutters.
“You love this part,” you whisper back.
He gives you a look that says you’re not wrong, then disappears down the hallway.
A second later you hear the soft thump of Eddie sitting on the edge of the bed, and Julie’s excited little voice spilling over itself.
You smile to yourself.
Wayne finishes the last sip of his coffee, and stands from the table.
You stand and grab a travel mug from the cabinet. “Here,” you say, gently tipping the rest of the coffee from the pot into it. “You can take the rest for the road.”
He opens his mouth to protest. You give him a look. He closes it again.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
You screw the lid on and hand it to him. “Seriously,” you add, softer now. “Thank you for watching her tonight.”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing.
“Anytime.”
“Well,” you say, leaning against the counter, “you should come over for dinner next week.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to feed me too."
“We want to. And Julie will absolutely riot if she doesn’t see you again soon,” you add.
That gets a small smile out of him.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll see what my hours are this week.”
You walk him to the door. The house is quiet now except for the faint murmur of Eddie’s voice down the hall. You pull Wayne’s coat off the hook and hand it to him.
“Drive safe.”
“Always do.”
He steps out into the cold night, breath fogging in the porch light. You linger in the doorway a moment as he walks to his truck. He lifts the coffee mug in a small salute before climbing in. The engine starts, and headlights sweep across the yard. You close the door softly behind him.
For a second you just stand there in the quiet house. And then you hear Eddie’s voice, soft and low. A little rough around the edges.
For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you three…
You lean against the wall and close your eyes without even realizing it.
Oh, since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you…
It’s gentle. Slower than the record. Turned into something sleepy and warm.
You know I will adore you ‘til eternity…
You can picture it without looking. Julie curled up under the blankets. Eddie sitting beside her, one big hand smoothing her hair back while he sings.
So won’t you please be my, be my baby…
You smile softly to yourself. Because you know he pretends to grumble about it.
But Eddie Munson loves nothing more than giving his girls music.
Author's note: I hope you enjoy this Valentine's fluff… more than a full month after the date. As always, let me know what you think <3
(Reminder that you can read this and plenty more of my works over on ao3!)