Older, married Caleb snippet based off this post cause I need it and need more.
You sit on the counter, legs swinging idly, the cool surface a relief against your sun-warmed skin. The faint stickiness of a melting popsicle lingers on your fingertips, a remnant of an earlier indulgence. The kitchen smells crisp—fresh apples, a hint of cinnamon from the spice rack, and the comforting scent of home.
Across from you, your husband works with quiet focus, slicing through the fruit with practiced ease. The soft thud of each piece landing in the bowl is oddly soothing. You watch the way his hands move, the way the afternoon light catches on the edge of the knife.
He gets a slice on his knife, bringing it your your lips.
You smirk, leaning forward just enough to pluck the apple slice from the flat of the knife with your teeth. It’s crisp, sweet, and a little tart, the juice bursting across your tongue. Caleb still doesn’t look up, but there’s the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth—he knows you’re watching him.
The soft hum of the ceiling fan stirs the warm air, and outside, a cicada buzzes lazily. The moment is unhurried, easy. You pop the rest of the apple into your mouth, licking a drop of juice from your lip as he continues slicing, his movements steady and sure.
“You’re staring,” he finally says, voice low and amused.
You chew, swallowing before answering. “You’re feeding me. It’s only fair I supervise.”
This time, he does glance up, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.
"Ya know, this whole 40s thing? It's hot. I thought the 30's were hot. But this?" You do a little outline of him with your fingers. "This is nice."
Caleb huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he picks up another apple. "You make it sound like I’m ancient," he mutters, but there’s a smug little tilt to his smile.
"You’re distinguished," you correct, biting into another slice he wordlessly offers. "Rugged. Seasoned."
Caleb huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he picks up another apple. “Oh yeah?” he muses, his tone light but laced with amusement. “So what, I was just decent in my thirties?”
You grin, still lazily tracing his outline in the air like you’re sketching some masterpiece. “No, no, you were very nice in your thirties. But now?” You tilt your head, eyeing him like you’re considering a fine work of art. “Now, you’re like—aged whiskey. Or, I don’t know, a really expensive cheese.”
Caleb finally looks up at you, brow raised. “Did you just compare me to cheese?”
You pop another apple slice into your mouth and shrug. “Sexy cheese.”
He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like "unbelievable", but there’s no hiding the way his mouth twitches, or the way his ears go just a little bit pink.